ada10v3lac3

[ada10v3lac3]

“Jokes on you because I’ve already imagined the worst possible things you could ever say to me”

“And?”

“I’m always disappointed”

[ada10v3lac3]

Yes. I know those mornings.

The kind where your body’s moving but your spirit is lagging behind… When everything feels too loud, too bright, too heavy—and all you want is to disappear into the quiet and the dark… Where a “good morning” feels like a threat, because holding your face together for one more second costs more than you’ve got…

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

“Too Late for the Echo”

They always come back,

with voices softer

and timing worse.

Messages like echoes

from a version of me

they helped create…

and then abandoned.

They circle like moths

to the flame they once held,

realizing too late

how rare it was—

how real.

But I’m not standing

in that same doorway.

I’ve walked farther,

carried the silence,

slept through the ache.

They come back,

but I don’t open the door—

not out of cruelty,

but simply because

I’m not there anymore.

[ada10v3lac3]

“Crumbs”

Breadcrumbs don’t make for a very good meal,

But you fed me some that I could feel.

Not quite love, not quite sin —

Just the ghost of your hands all over my skin.

We never talked much past the nights…

No morning plans, no softer light.

Under the blanket, me and you…

Feeling every thing brand new

The way your breath brushed against my chin… I couldn’t wait for this to begin

I said I was cool — and I was, for a bit.

I told myself that “this can’t be it.”

But then today? That little catch…

When you practice to attach 

Swipe right.

Heart tight.

A flicker and a click

Then you vanished just like a magic trick.

Why do I crave what never began?

Why do I ache for an unfinished man?

Your silence tastes like cologne and gin —

Warm, bitter, and under my skin.

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

“Crossfade”

The room vibrates low,

The hum of mini fridge sighs and window A/C,

walls the color of second chances…

and the ceiling tiles never respond to tepid thoughts

A drive through Sister Lakes with the windows cracked,

air thick with June and “maybe not this time.”

The barbershop light was off.

No text, just silence sharp enough to line me up.

I asked the magic ring for the Presidential Suite—

pressed palm to steering wheel,

heart half-full of glitter and disbelief.

But what if marble floors echo lonelier than carpeted truths?

There’s a vacancy in me,

same as the glowing sign out front,

and maybe that’s not a flaw,

but a passage.

He fades out, like clippers left buzzing in the background.

Not cruel, just casual.

Not for me, maybe never was.

The next town waits.

I don’t know its name yet,

but it smells like gasoline and grace,

and the music shifts like fate on shuffle…

Tonight, I’m in the middle of the map.

Not lost—just paused.

With stars overhead,

and something real whispering:

“Don’t settle for the suite if it costs you the story.”

[ada10v3lac3]

Dmytro Kupriyan | When The War is Over

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

✨

sometimes I write things I don’t know how to say out loud.

If it lands where it’s meant to, you’ll know.

And if it doesn’t, the sky still smiled at me anyway.

🌙

[ada10v3lac3]

“Driveway Spell (Spring Version)”

JF Fresh from somewhere else

The spring air sighs in lilac tones,

While I sit here parked, and all alone.

The breeze is kind, the street is still—

Yet something in me craves the thrill…

I guess I’m here and I’m outside,

With the ghost I cannot hide.

The one who haunts my thoughts and bones,

Who loves in his glances, my dreams, and our phones.

The sky above begins to grin—

A crescent moon, two planets pinned.

A smiley face of light and fate,

As if the stars are in on wait.

I check my face, I check my doubt,

I breathe in the blooms and block him out.

But every quiet makes me feel

That only one of them is real…

If he walked up and if time rewound,

And I heard that voice, that velvet sound—

I’d drop the script, the planned charade,

And run where all the plans are laid.

So here I sit, my heart half-packed,

Pretending this isn’t to distract…

While movie night and maybe’s sway,

My mind is ten whole years away…

And still the sky, with stars so sly,

Keeps smiling down with a crescent eye.

A secret grin, both cruel and true—

It knows just why I’m here…

for you.

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]

“Barbershop Barricades”

for MR the Les Mis-ter

There’s something in you —

a silence that howls.

Like the ghost of a trumpet

after the march has ended,

after the revolution failed,

after the barricade fell.

Your hands are steady,

but your soul shakes the walls.

You trim hair like you’re carving out memory,

cutting away the weight,

but not your own.

And I sit beside you,

speaking in vowels and vibrations,

while your sadness plays a soft dirge

underneath the words we don’t mean.

We weren’t lovers,

not exactly —

just two souls in orbit

the night gravity forgot itself.

You remind me of Paris in the rain.

Of midnight monologues and ashtrays full of almosts.

You wear your weird like armor,

and I…

I think I liked bleeding for a minute.

I’ll bring the movie,

you bring the melancholy,

and we’ll press play on something

that might not make sense —

but it hums,

and it pulls,

and it holds us,

right until the credits.

[ada10v3lac3]

Ode to the Cruller Divine

In dawnlight’s hush, where warm winds sigh,

A cruller waits, as angels lie—

A spiral kissed by sugared flame,

No mortal sweet could wear its name.

Its crust, a lace of golden thread,

Where dreams and butter softly wed;

A crackle breaks, then gives to air,

So light, you’d swear there’s nothing there.

But ah! Within, a velvet cloud,

Of egg and cream, both meek and proud,

With whispers stirred of orange bloom,

And bourbon’s hush in maple gloom.

It rests upon a porcelain plate,

A brief, exquisite twist of fate.

You bite—and all the clocks unwind,

Your body fades, you taste the mind.

No baker’s hand, no mortal spoon

Could craft such joy beneath the moon.

This cruller, kissed by god or ghost,

Is breakfast, yes—but more than most.

[ada10v3lac3]

[ada10v3lac3]