Simply Drakovi

Petals of Memory: A Bloodrose’s Reverie By Drakovi Bloodrose I am not a flower. I am the fracture of a scream. I am not alive, yet I breathe. My roots anchor to the soil as if the earth herself clings to me, a desperate lover. My petals, red as forgotten rage, shiver in the whispering wind, each vibration carrying tales of passing feet and shadowed figures. They call me bloodrose . But I call myself Ache. Each morning, the sun drips liquid gold over me, and I soak it up greedily, though it tastes of yesterday’s despair. My thorns gleam like spears, dulled from their wars with careless hands. A robin lands beside me and chirps something absurd: “You are beautiful today, Ache.” It has the audacity to compliment my decay, my eternal wilting. I snarl, “I am not beautiful, little winged fool. I am the scar you forgot to heal.” The robin doesn’t care, flies away with my bitterness tucked beneath its feathers. The soil hums with worms beneath me. They dance in spirals, singing songs older tha...

Ever notice how the urge to take a piss hits hardest right when you start washing the dishes? The Battle at the Sink By Drakovi Bloodrose The sink is full, and so am I, But the dishes can’t wait, and neither can I. Warm water flows, soap bubbles rise, And suddenly, my bladder starts to cry. Plate after plate, I scrub with care, But the pressure below is hard to bear. The sponge squeaks loud, the faucet streams, All a cruel reminder of my bursting seams. The pots are sticky, the forks are grim, My focus wavers, my chances slim. Will I make it? Can I last? This battle feels like it’ll never pass. With the last dish done, I toss the sponge, And bolt away in a desperate lunge. Relief at last, the struggle is through— The sink is clean, and so am I too.

Everyday the Rhythm Beats by Drakovi Bloodrose  Waking up, the sunlight spills over my bones— Sitting with the weight of my own thoughts, A brief dance with the porcelain throne, Shaving off the day before, head smooth, Beard an art of its own— A brushstroke in the mirror. Egg and oatmeal, Fruit’s burst of color, A protein shake— Liquid ambition, Fuel for the house of thoughts. Lillie, Miko, Kila— Tails and paws, A tangled rhythm of play. The floors whisper of cleanliness, Housework like the rhythm of breathing, Words slip through, poetry, Chasing the spaces in between. Anxiety— Not a cage but a wild rhythm, No fear—just energy buzzing, I shift, Gaming on the edge of the mind, The sky a blanket of endless questions. Her love, a constant hum, Her smile in the chaos, The softness of skin— Passion, sex, hunger, The circle ever spinning. And at the core, A mind, Unraveling, But never unwound. Goodnight universe. 

Awaken the Spirit, Protect the Land A Fortnite Tale b y Drakovi Bloodrose The sun split the sky with golden streaks as I, Drakovi, donning Michelangelo's skin—ever the eternal jokester and ninja extraordinaire—leapt from the Battle Bus, a shell of determination guiding my descent. The cherry blossoms danced in the breeze as I chose my landing spot: Warrior’s Watch. From above, its stone walls whispered of ancient honor and untold challenges. Touching down with a perfect roll landing, I immediately scanned my surroundings. My hands were empty, my blade yet to be earned. The echo of lesser demons prowling in the distance sent a shiver through me. No biggie, though—I’m used to throwing myself into chaos. With quick feet, I darted toward the nearest chest nestled under an archway, its golden glow beckoning like pizza on a cold night. Inside, I found my first tool of survival: the Oni Shotgun, its intricate design pulsing with supernatural energy. A fire mask rested beside it, glow...

Ripples of Growth  by Drakovi Bloodrose  A seed. A pat. A drop. The earth—wet, cold, or warm? Shh. Shh. The quiet hum of roots. Unseen. Invisible. But they stretch—always stretching. Above, below—no, no one knows. No sun yet, but a whisper in the dark soil. A dream begins. Stretch, reach— stretch, reach — Does it hear the sound of breath? Or is it just the quiet hum, the tickling of roots, the soil sighing, the patience of the wait. Time, space, movement, air. Shh. Shh. Stretching, a leaf, pushing. A shadow on the ground. The sky shifts, unfolding. What happens next?

The stray cats on the roof, unwanted companions, intrude on my peace of mind as they wander through my thoughts. The noise of their night-time activities on the roof disturbs my peace and quiet.  I can't stop picturing their fierce gazes shining under the moon, seeming to taunt me from their lofty domain. I try unsuccessfully to capture a moment of calm while they roam without fear and uncontrolled.  Every evening, the noisy commotion of their playful antics on the rooftop reverberates within the confines of my house. Initially, I found it entertaining - a peculiar rhythm, a reflection of life's unpredictability - but now it's making me crazy. I gaze at the ceiling, wishing for the noises to cease, yet they persist. It's like the universe is telling me that peace isn't always attainable; it's something we pursue, only to realize that the pursuit is where the real wisdom lies.  In a strange way, I suppose I admire their freedom. The boldness of the rooftop cats a...

Feast of Fragments by Drakovi Bloodrose    The turkey is not the bird, it is the space where the bird once was, and the table is not the table, but the echo of a thousand yesterdays. This feast of the mind— mashed potatoes? No, they are the memories of something that was never quite real. Cranberry sauce? More like the reflection of a reflection. And yet, we eat. We devour. What is gratitude but the whisper of an unspoken thank you lost between the first bite and the last? The pie does not exist. It only does when we look at it— and even then, only for a moment. I raise my glass to the chaos of it all. The burnt edges, the awkward silences, the laughter that echoes like something that has always been here, but never truly arrived. The pumpkin sits— not as fruit, but as a symbol of symbols, its orange a trick of light and time. Is it fall? Is it us? Are we falling, or rising, or are we the ones who have already gone? I give thanks for nothing, and...

My first attempt at a type of poetry made entirely from lines or phrases borrowed from other poets. I focused on the theme of life and its complexities. Life Unfolds By Drakovi Bloodrose I saw eternity the other night (Henry Vaughan),In the stillness of remembering what you had and lost (Pablo Neruda). Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? (Mary Oliver) Each day is a god, each day is a god (Anne Sexton). The sun rises, and the sun goes down (Ecclesiastes 1:5), And we are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love (William Blake). Do not go gentle into that good night (Dylan Thomas), But stand like a beaten anvil (Homer). The world offers itself to your imagination (Mary Oliver), For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it (Amanda Gorman). To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: To love what is mortal, to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it, And, when th...

Call of the Sonoran By Drakovi Bloodrose Breathe the dust, the sacred ground,   Whisper winds, the ancient sound.   Cholla spines and shadowed night,   Guardians of the desert light.   Call of coyote, moon hangs low,   Secrets only saguaros know.   Rattle sings with thunder's drum,   Tucson waits; the heart grows numb.   Speak the name, the sacred sound,   Feel the pulse of timeless ground.   Under stars, the desert calls,   Eternal voice in canyon walls.  

Fragments by Drakovi Bloodrose  In the silence between breaths, we are both everything and nothing. The mind is a shattered mirror, each piece reflecting a different truth.

Under the Full Moon in Taurus  By Drakovi Bloodrose  Beneath the unwavering glow of the Full Moon, I stand rooted in my essence, a Taurus tethered to the Earth yet drawn skyward. The Moon, at its zenith, whispers secrets of stability and passion, illuminating both the steadfast ground beneath my feet and the dreams I clutch close to my chest.   Tonight, the universe aligns with my soul—a harmony of constancy and illumination. The Moon, 14.66 days old, mature in its cycle, reflects the resilience I carry. It hangs above, 228,096 miles away, yet its pull feels as intimate as a heartbeat, stirring the tides within me.   The Taurus Moon wraps me in its gentle power, grounding my spirit while urging me to embrace the fullness of this moment. This is a night of fullness—not merely of light but of potential. It calls for reflection, for celebration of what is and contemplation of what could be.   The illumination of the Moon mirrors the truths I cannot i...

Unspoken Weight by Drakovi Bloodrose  There are moments when everything seems to accumulate without any events taking place; it's, like carrying a burden thats hard to put into words. There are times when its not about any thing but a feeling of being weighed down that just doesn't seem to lift. Some days seem mundane and routine with no progress or direction, in sight. Its puzzling why everything hits you all at once without warning. The days blend together seamlessly. Nothing seems certain. There are times of silence when you feel a wave of emotions but struggle to express them in words.It's not always, about finding solutions; sometimes it's just about navigating through it all by taking things step, by step. It doesn't necessarily make things smoother or simpler. Its a start. At times you have to keep going even if you're uncertain of the destination. You don't need to be perfect all the time. Keep moving in your own way each day. 

Beyond Pity By Drakovi Bloodrose  There’s no pity left in me for anyone. I don’t mean I don’t care; I mean pity has no place in how I see people. It’s like watering a plant with only enough for a single day—it does nothing to sustain. Real empathy, real compassion, that’s the foundation I want to build on. But pity? It’s empty, and it cheapens what someone else is going through, as if all they need is someone to feel sorry for them. When you pity someone, you put them in a corner, like they're trapped in their story, and I refuse to see anyone that way. Instead, I believe in seeing people for their resilience, for the fires they’ve walked through that have strengthened them. It’s about standing beside them in the dust and saying, "I’m here; what do you need?" Not "I’m sorry you’re down there." I don’t want pity for myself, either. If there’s something I can’t get through, I’d rather people believe I will, or let me figure out my way. We’re all capable of more th...

Gratitude in Perspective by Drakovi Bloodrose Sometimes, life has a funny way of showing us how easily we can overlook our own blessings. I think of those who dream of comfort and luxury, while those living in abundance often look past it, caught up in wanting more. Someone who has lost a loved one holds a unique sorrow, while others, surrounded by love, sometimes take it for granted. There's a person who would give anything for a simple meal, while someone else turns away from a full plate, not savoring it. The dreamer without a car longs for freedom, while the one who drives every day might yearn for something bigger, newer. The truth is, gratitude reshapes everything. When we take a moment to look at our own lives, we might see that someone else would treasure the very things we’re too busy to appreciate.

Pulse of the Desert by Drakovi Bloodrose  The Tucson streets hum with life, raw and real beneath my shoes.   The sky bleeds into twilight, a soft bruise of pink and purple that stretches over the city, pulling the night from its seams. The saguaros stand like ancient sentinels, their arms raised in a gesture of quiet defiance, as though reaching for something just beyond my understanding. Their spines hold the weight of time, sharp and heavy with the stories of this place—stories carried in the wind, whispered through the dust, written in the cracks of the earth beneath my feet.   I pass a woman sweeping dust from her doorstep. She doesn’t look up, but her presence lingers in the air, something warm and familiar. The sound of the broom against the pavement is rhythmic, a pulse in the stillness, and a faint hum escapes her lips, a song only the desert knows. It hangs in the thick, heavy air, moving with the breeze, like a secret the sky keeps.   The str...

A Shift In Influence  By Drakovi Bloodrose  The election has ended, and I am quite satisfied with the outcome. I feel like Trump's victory was the correct decision, and I am truly excited to see what he will accomplish in this term. Observing the past day was highly entertaining, as various media platforms were promoting different storylines in an attempt to influence public opinion.  I am interested in discovering if all the prominent figures who supported Kamala will uphold their promise or if they were only obeying instructions. Were they genuinely supporting her, or were they simply puppets instructed to publicly approve of her? It will be fascinating to see who sticks to their words and who recedes into the shadows.  This election has demonstrated a shift in the status quo. Similar to how artists no longer require major labels, and actors are producing their own films independently, we can now stay informed without relying on traditional media. Individuals such ...