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This is the crooked little workshop behind the art —
a place for unfinished poems, scattered thoughts,
ink-stained pages, visual art, lyrics, stories, fragments,
and all the strange things still becoming themselves.
Some works found here may one day grow into
finished collections of their own.
Others may remain scraps, sketches, or
wandering little creatures left exactly as they are.
This is where the roots show.
The drafts.
The late-night ideas.
The beautiful mess before the pieces
find where they belong.
So come wander through the malice.
The Malice World
Zombie
I drew this zombie when The Walking Dead was really popular. It was great practice for sketching wrinkles, stretched skin, and pushing facial features into something more unsettling.
Malice Blūm
May 151 min read
What If I Flew
[Intro – soft piano] [Verse 1] She sits at her desk, a prisoner of time a girl with a dream that's too wild to define. The paper stays blank, but the world in her head, is dancing in colors no words ever said. The notes start to shimmer, they rise like the dawn, a silence that sings when the real world is gone. She’s lost in a waltz that the heart only knows, 'til a voice cuts it down like the chill of a ghost. [Pre-Chorus] "Eyes on the page," says the voice in the room, but
Malice Blūm
May 152 min read
The Gears Are Ours
I don't think men are doing enough to clear their gender’s name of the stain that is misogyny and worse. I don't think women are mad enough to grind the gilded gears of society to a halt. Because, in the end, those gears are ours. As long as the gears keep turning, new life flows. Refuse to grind and everything stops. No sons. No daughters. No empire grows. _______________ This is not a poem about hating men or blaming women. It is about the way systems survive by teaching or
Malice Blūm
May 141 min read
Prompts 1
A series of poems I wrote from prompts one day while I was sick in bed. What I Let Drown I knew if I didn’t let you go I would drown too. So I loosened my grip, finger by finger, watched you drift deeper beneath the trembling water. Your hair spread out like ink in the calm, your lips parted as if they had one last thing to say. I almost followed. Almost dove in with you. Almost let the dark close over my head like a lid. But life kept calling me in ugly human ways— heart rac
Malice Blūm
May 102 min read
Cubist Tom
This drawing started with a social-media pen pal in the UK. We struck up a conversation online and ended up chatting back and forth for a little while. During that time I started sketching his face from some of the photos he shared. It became a bit of a thing for us—I’d draw him, try something different, draw him again. Over that short stretch I ended up with a few portraits, but this one quickly became my favorite.
Malice Blūm
May 81 min read
On My Terms
I don't want to die. But my body keeps trying— why? I should be running through fields, not dreading what the end yields. Why does my blood pulse with mutiny? Oxygen kept from cells— hypoxia. I have held this body gently— nourished it with food. Hydrated it with liquids. Filled it with forgiveness. Dragged it kicking and screaming through years it swore it would not survive. So why then must my body turn against me like an animal trapped— chewing through itself to escape? I'v
Malice Blūm
May 52 min read
No King
America has no king, no crown upon the greedy mind; no single voice whose power grows through fear to rule mankind. Yet power hums beneath the ground, its echoes haunt the clay; for what was built on others’ bones still breathes beneath the day. The treaties turned from word to ash, their pledges swept away; The Trail still winds through history's grief, where countless lives gave way. The children sent to schools reformed, young buried 'neath the frames, and from the bones o
Malice Blūm
May 45 min read
The Daughters Rise
They told us we were made to bow, to bite our tongues and pray; but every scar that marks us now sharpens our every blade. They called us wild, unfit, unclean— then turned from what we bled; they feared the power in our red, the worlds our wombs have bred. We’ve buried sisters, named and blamed, their ashes fed the ground; each stolen voice we claim as ours now rings in battle sound. We rise for those they silenced here, for those who burned and bled; their voices linger, sha
Malice Blūm
May 31 min read
Red Moon Rising
At first she was a thief— crept in without knocking, stained my only white skirt, left me curled on the bathroom floor— a question mark nobody answered. I called her curse. Called her dirty. Called her why me every twenty-eight days, a sentence I never agreed to serve. She was pain with a face I couldn’t slap, a voice that screamed you’re still not pregnant in the language of clots and cramps. I bled through sheets, through shame, through every plan I tried to keep. Then— two
Malice Blūm
May 22 min read
Ink Of You
(92 BPM –Amapiano-infused Reggeaton sway) [VERSE 1] Our eyes ignite, flint in the night, a spark runs up, a wicked light. Your lips on mine—the world goes small, a bloom of heat, I feel it all. Your hands like silk, they glide on me, unwrapping secrets, quietly. Each kiss a pulse, each breath you take, a vow that trembles in its wake. [PRE-CHORUS 1] I don’t wanna slow this down, don’t pull me back to solid ground, every touch just pulls me through— every inch leads back to yo
Malice Blūm
May 13 min read
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