Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

Writings

Followers

Following

Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

Writings

Followers

Following

Where the Shadows Keep Their Secrets

Cassette A.

1 min read

We all look the same in the dark—

bones beneath skin,

lips sealed tight like tombs

where the stories lie rotting.

No color, no scars,

no weight of past decisions

etched into the hollows of our cheeks.

Just shadows pretending

we’re clean.

Touch me there—

not the skin,

but the silence that clings to it.

You’ll find

not a person,

but a battlefield

dressed in flesh.

You’ll find the ghosts

I swallowed...

Poetry

Chapter 9:

Cassette A.

2 min read

**“Women Love Jerks—So Stop Being So Damn Nice”**

From Alpha Ascension: How to Win at Life Without Ever Changing by Brad “Steel” Hammerstone

Let me ask you a question, my man:

Have you ever poured your heart out to a girl, wrote her sweet messages, remembered her dog’s birthday, and then watched her run off with a guy who responds to her texts three days late and calls her “dude”?

Exactly. Y...

Humour

Laced in Crimson, Lost in Glass

Cassette A.

3 min read

In the heart of the crumbling town of Vaelridge, where the fog rolls in heavy and the lamplight flickers like dying stars, children never sang lullabies. They whispered rhymes instead, each one darker than the last. The most infamous?

“Two go in, and one comes out,

Love turns whispers into shouts.

In the house of crimson lace,

One will vanish—leave no trace.”

No one knew where the rhyme had star...

Horror

Romance

To Be Seen

Cassette A.

1 min read

All her life,

she was the afterthought—

the name called last,

the one they forgot.

She learned to smile

with quiet grace,

while hiding hurt

she couldn’t place.

But then came someone

who saw her whole,

who chose her first—

heart, mind, and soul.

And in his eyes,

she finally knew:

being chosen last

was never about you....

Poetry

A Poem (I Guess) for My Wife

Cassette A.

1 min read

**(By Your Husband, Who Tried) **

Roses are red,

but so is the warning light in my truck when I don’t check the oil.

You tell me to check it.

I don’t.

You love me anyway.

That’s love, right?

You’re like… a good lawn mower.

Dependable. Strong.

Gets the job done but also doesn’t yell when I forget to do the trimming.

Okay, sometimes you yell. But like, in a cute way.

You’re the touchdown in my ot...

Poetry

Humour

Palimpsest

Cassette A.

1 min read

**((Trying something new—story writing isn’t usually my thing, so feel free to share any feedback!))**

It began with the ticking.

Not the clock—no, that had long since been silenced, its hands twisted backward in a gesture of defiance or prayer. This was deeper. This was the sound the world made when it held its breath too long. When it remembered. The ticking lived beneath the floorboards now...

Mystery

Thriller

Ode to the Girl Who Thought It Was Love

Cassette A.

2 min read

O fragile body,

temple of soft skin and wildfire spirit,

how many times have you been unwrapped

by hands that mistook possession for love?

O heart that loved too deeply,

you were taught that love

meant giving,

and giving,

and giving

until you were nothing but an echo

in someone else’s mouth.

If only this world could show me a little more mercy—

not bind me in ribbons of silence,

not cradle me in ...

Poetry

Pulled Too Thin

Cassette A.

1 min read

I’m being pulled in every direction—

voices clawing at my shoulders,

needs like nails, sharp and constant,

I am threadbare in the tug-of-war of expectation.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

every hand wants a piece of me,

and I have nothing left to give,

only the echo of a name worn thin by demand.

I’m being pulled in every direction—

not a breath between requests,

no room to collapse or cry...

Poetry

Built To Burn

Cassette A.

1 min read

The world will burn

and maybe then they’ll listen.

They carved gods from stone

but gave her no name—

just whore, witch, wife.

She birthed empires in blood and silence,

then was stoned for bleeding.

In Greece, she was property.

In Rome, a prize.

In Salem, firewood.

In factories, replaceable.

In wars, collateral.

She marched.

She bled for the vote.

She swallowed her rage in offices,

in kitchens,

...

Poetry

The Sharp Stick

Cassette A.

1 min read

Life is like a sharp stick—

jabbed in your side when you least expect it,

not deep enough to kill,

just enough to remind you you’re bleeding.

You smile through the sting,

walk with a limp no one sees,

because everyone’s got their own wound

hidden beneath pressed shirts and polite words.

Some days you scream in silence,

bite your tongue so hard it bruises,

just to make it through the next moment

...

Poetry