These lines wear boots and walk dark streets.
So if you're after poems with bite and burn,
crack the file and let the shadows churn.
Send my words like sparks to tinder,
Let them burn, then let them linger.
This isn’t for the quiet shelf—
You write like storms. Be your wild self.
They crave the thorn, the blood, the bloom,
Not polished pearls in quiet rooms.
They want the howl, the cracked glass scream,
The ghost that chased you through a dream.
So tear the pages from your chest,
The ones that never let you rest.
The ink-stained truth, the jagged prayer—
Overgrowth is waiting there.
No shrinking violets. No soft disguise.
Just roots and rain and raw sunrise.
If your poem fights and bleeds and bites,
Submit it. Now. Set it alight.