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Cadmus 6h
There’s something about the way he doesn’t chase…

It’s not the swagger. Not the smirk.
Not the way his shirt clings when he works.
It’s how he doesn’t beg the light
he walks in shadow, and still feels right.

He doesn’t claim me. He just looks
and in that look, he rewrites books.
The kind with knights and velvet beds,
with whispered vows and tangled threads.

He moves like time forgot to rush.
His silence holds a speaking hush.
He doesn’t grab he lets me choose,
And yet I burn if I refuse.

His hands could bruise, but never try.
They trace my skin like lullaby.
He guards, not cages. Leads, not binds
And in his arms, the world unwinds.

He calls me wild. He keeps me free.
He doesn’t need to conquer me.
And still, I’d kneel, I’d bend, I’d melt,
For how his quiet power’s felt.

There’s chivalry in how he waits,
In how he touches no locked gates.
And when he moves, it’s not to own,
But to remind me, I’m not alone.

So here’s to him: the kind of man
Who doesn’t boast, but simply can.
Who wins no throne, but takes command
Just by the way he dares to stand.
This isn’t about dominance, It’s about admiration -  for the quiet, unshakable essence of a man who doesn’t need to chase, prove, or perform.
The kind who holds his ground with grace.
Who protects without control, leads without ego, and commands without noise.
This is for him - the man whose strength is in how he stands.
Cadmus Jun 22
☔️

The depressed one is not sick,
nor broken,
nor lost to some disorder.

He simply saw the world,
its truths laid bare,
its people unmasked,
and found no beauty
in the ruin beneath.

It wasn’t madness that took him,
but clarity.

And the weight
of so much ugliness
he could not unsee.

☔️
Sometimes, what breaks a person is not confusion, but understanding.
Cadmus Jun 22
☕️

A man keeps to himself
most of his:
disappointments,
sorrow,
despair,
bitterness,
and his tragedies.

Then one day, he explodes,
If his coffee cup slips from his hand.

☕️
It’s rarely the last thing that breaks us.
It’s everything that came before it.
Cadmus Jun 22
🖤

Like a child running to his mother in tears,
seeking warmth in her arms,
only to be silenced with a slap.

That is the ache of being let down,
right where you thought safety lived.

⛓️‍💥
Some wounds don’t bleed , they echo in places we thought were safe.
Jun 18 · 413
The Weight of Her Ring
Cadmus Jun 18
💍

She may walk like fire
and speak like wine,
but her lips
carry the ashes
of another man’s home.

Desire is not worth
the ruin you inherit.
No glory is found
in tasting
a betrayal
you didn’t earn.

🖤
Never sleep with another man’s wife. Some doors are locked for a reason. Kicking them open only brings ghosts.
Jun 17 · 100
She Who Dreams…
Cadmus Jun 17
She dreams
of what never was.

No man
can match the shape
she carved in absence.

So she stays
half-settled,
half-burning…

Hurting the one who stayed
for not being
the one
who never came.
Longing, when shaped by fantasy, often becomes a quiet weapon turned inward or toward whoever remains.
Jun 17 · 98
The Edge of Language
Cadmus Jun 17
🎭

What I truly feel
doesn’t survive the telling.

It breaks
on the edge of language…
leaving only
a softened version
for others to understand.

while the real thing
keeps burning quietly
where no words can reach.

🎭
Some truths are not spoken - they are endured in silence.
Jun 17 · 248
Forget Me Gradually
Cadmus Jun 17
☔️

Don’t forget me all at once
Let me slip away in pieces.

Lose my voice today,
Tomorrow, my laughter,
Then that flicker in my eyes.

Let my words fade like old songs,
Let my kindness dissolve in silence.

I want to fall from your memory
Like raindrops
Dripping from a soaked branch
Not like a lifeless corpse.

☔️
Some departures deserve the courtesy of slowness. Not everything should vanish with a bang, some goodbyes ache sweeter in fragments.
Jun 16 · 1.0k
If You Had My Eyes
Cadmus Jun 16
They asked me once,
“Why do you always take the hard path?”

I said,
“It’s not that I choose it
It’s just the only path I see.”

Not all of us are given options.

Some roads are rough
because that’s all there is.
Sometimes, life doesn’t offer a choice between easy and hard - it simply gives a road, and we walk it.
Cadmus Jun 13
🕊️

I miss who I was
softer,
simpler,
a little lost…

But somehow more at peace.

Not wiser,
just lighter.

And peace, it turns out,
is the rarest kind of wisdom.

🕊️
Growth often costs us the gentleness we once had. But in quiet moments, we grieve that softness - not for its weakness, but for its peace.
Jun 5 · 245
Quiet Like Ruins
Cadmus Jun 5
🏛️

Those who survived the deadly blows of life,
and the collapse of all they trusted.

Don’t cry anymore.

They’ve traded tears,
for silence.

No joy stirs them.

No sorrow shakes them.

They know too much.

They’ve seen the truth:
nothing stays.
Not warmth,
not promises,
not even pain.

They walk among us,
quiet
like ruins.

Surrounded by crowds,
they remain alone,

Survivors

wearing the stillness
of what nearly killed them.

🏛️
Some scars don’t scream, they whisper through silence that never ends.
Jun 5 · 41
No Longer Welcome
Cadmus Jun 5
🚪

Tell those latecomers,
they are too late.

No longer welcome.

The longing that once burned for them,
now sleeps in ashes they cannot revive.

Even beauty,
once able to undo me,
now passes by,
unseen,
untouched.

For what fails to arrive when it’s needed,
doesn’t arrive at all.

Excessive waiting takes its toll,
and the loss is permanent.

⌛️
Some doors don’t slam… they simply stop opening.
Jun 2 · 467
Framed
Cadmus Jun 2
🐺

The more I understand man
and what he’s capable of…

the more I am convinced
the wolf was framed

and Little Red
wrote the story.

🧣🧣
Interpretations are often shaped by those who survive to tell the tale. Sometimes, the villain is just the one without a voice.
May 30 · 746
Lost Smiles
Cadmus May 30
🎭

I
miss
the
time
when
my
smiles
were
real.

👺
This piece reflects the quiet resilience that grows in the shadow of sadness. It’s a reminder that even the faintest hope has the power to restore the sincerity of a smile.
May 30 · 290
Unspoken
Cadmus May 30
🪔

I pretend I’m just fine

But your absence

Maps itself all over my face

Like shadow tracing bones.

🪔
Some losses don’t announce themselves with tears or noise , they settle into the contours of us, silently rewriting how the world reads our face.
May 30 · 162
Come Back to Me
Cadmus May 30
Don’t believe the words I wrote
in that fleeting moment of storm,
about forgetting you.

They were born of hurt,
not truth.

My eternity,
still longs for you.

Even silence,
echoes your name.
Written in the quiet aftermath of a moment I mistook for closure. Sometimes, the heart speaks in contradiction before it finds its truth again.
May 30 · 140
When Virtue Turns Ugly
Cadmus May 30
When a noble heart is betrayed,
He runs not home, but feeds the flame.

Toward the low, he throws his grace,
A furious fall from a higher place.

As if to curse what once was pure,
To make his past no longer endure.

Not for pleasure, not for thrill
But to punish the light it once stood still.
Even the most virtuous soul, when betrayed deeply enough, may seek ruin not out of desire, but as revenge against the very morality that once made them vulnerable. It is not corruption they chase, but justice twisted by pain.
May 30 · 116
Like No One Is Watching
Cadmus May 30
I laughed - not for likes,
but because the sky was kind
and the breeze felt honest.

I wore comfort,
not costume,
and danced without a soundtrack.

No mirrors.
No filters.
Just me,
at ease in my skin,
and joy
quiet as a secret,
loud as my heart.
We spend so much of life performing for eyes that aren’t really watching, chasing applause that never feels quite enough. But real joy lives in the unscripted, in the quiet, barefoot moments where we belong wholly to ourselves. This poem is a reminder: not everything needs an audience to be beautiful.
May 29 · 102
Honesty Is a Plague
Cadmus May 29
Once infected,

you’re bound to lose,
friends,
family,
lovers,
Business.

Faith brands you a heretic.

Power erases you.

Not because truth is evil,
but because it’s untamed
and the world prefers masks
that never slip.

They said truth sets you free , they forgot to mention it frees you from everyone.

☔️
Cadmus May 27
✈️

A slap on the tarmac, crisp and clear,
From Madame’s hand to France’s dear.

Not war, not scandal, nor fiscal gap
But history paused for a marital slap.

The cameras rolled, the world took note,
As dignity slipped from his tailored coat.

If kings once fell to sword and plot,
Now presidents blush, and say they “forgot.”

👋🏻
Sometimes history is written in treaties, sometimes in blood, and occasionally, with an open palm in front of a presidential aircraft.
May 26 · 260
Your Move
Cadmus May 26
🎭

I’m the fire that craves,
and the frost that forgets.

Love me well,
and I’ll burn eternal.

Cross me once,
and I’ll silence the sun.

Your move.
This piece expresses emotional duality… the ability to feel deeply while remaining capable of complete detachment. It’s not a contradiction, but a warning: intensity flows both ways.
May 26 · 67
Hollowing
Cadmus May 26
The worst isn’t death.
Death is honest.
It arrives, it ends.
Clean.

The worst is staying.
Breathing.
Functioning.
While everything that made you you
quietly rots beneath the skin.

When you watch your passions
starve to death
and can’t even bother
to grieve them.

When the people you loved
become background noise,
and you answer with nods
because words cost too much.

When nothing is worth arguing for,
and silence feels
like mercy.

This isn’t a fall.
It’s slow erasure
each day
another fingerprint gone
from the glass.

Until one morning,
you look in the mirror
and meet
a very polite stranger.
This poem explores emotional erosion - not dramatic collapse, but the quiet, daily loss of passion, purpose, and self. It reflects the darker side of psychological burnout, where apathy masquerades as peace, and survival becomes indistinguishable from surrender.
May 25 · 70
Made to Adore
Cadmus May 25
There’s something in her I won’t name
A hush of wind, a candle flame.
Not made for grasping, not to own,
She is the wild, the seed, the stone.

She doesn’t try to draw the eye,
Yet still, the world forgets the sky.
She moves as though the earth was told
To cradle life in curves of gold.

Her voice? It’s warmth in twilight air,
A lullaby, a whispered prayer.
Her smile? The sun through window panes,
That touches soul before it rains.

She doesn’t rule - and yet, she reigns.
She doesn’t fight - but breaks my chains.
She’s softness made by nature’s hand
To melt the steel in every man.

She speaks in silence, sees in shade,
And somehow knows what’s not yet said.
She tends, she weaves, she kneels to none,
Yet all I am revolves her sun.

I’ve seen her cry - and not from fear,
But from a strength too deep, too near.
A well of life, a boundless sea
That dares to bloom and still be free.

She is the reason poems start,
The gentle architect of heart.
The one who holds without a grip,
Who builds a world with fingertip.

And if the stars should all erase,
I’d find the universe in her face.
For she’s not mine - she’s something more:
The sacred I was made to adore
This poem is a hymn of reverence - an ode from a man who sees in his beloved not just beauty or affection, but the sacred architecture of life itself. She is not defined by roles or possessions, but by her elemental force: soft yet unyielding, nurturing yet untamed. In her, he perceives the mystery of creation, the poetry of emotion, and the quiet power nature entrusts to the feminine form. It is not submission she inspires, but devotion -  the kind born from awe, not ownership
May 24 · 487
Dare to Burn
Cadmus May 24
🦅

Fly,
fierce child,
into the ruthless blue;

Let winds unmake you,
they will make you true.

The sky is cruel
but it remembers one:

The heart that dares to burn
brighter than the sun.

☀️
This poem is a brief invocation of courage, a metaphorical push from the ledge, urging the bold spirit to embrace risk, transformation, and pain as rites of passage. The “ruthless blue” is not only the sky but the vast unknown, the unforgiving realm of truth and transcendence. Only by allowing oneself to be “unmade” by elemental forces can the self be reforged into something authentic and luminous.
May 23 · 89
Dirty Plate
Cadmus May 23
🍽️

If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:

They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.

Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.

The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.

So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.

They were never here for me…
just the feast.
This piece strips away illusion to expose the cruelty of conditional attention. It’s a brutal commentary on how people often glorify what they consume, only to discard it with contempt once their desire is satisfied. A warning to recognize the difference between admiration and appetite.
May 23 · 59
Heartless
Cadmus May 23
🖤

Just pray
you don’t push me far enough
to show you
how heartless I can be.

I’ve buried mercy
for those who went too deep.

I’ve smiled
while walking away from flames
I used to feed.

There’s a silence in me
darker than rage,
a calm
that doesn’t beg,
warn,
or explain.

🖤
This poem is a quiet warning cloaked in composure. It speaks to the stillness that comes not from indifference, but from practiced restraint, the kind that’s capable of cruelty, but chooses silence. Until silence becomes the sharpest answer of all.
May 22 · 173
Alive !
Cadmus May 22
You don’t notice it at first.
Not really.
Life keeps you busy with noise, with dreams, with the next thing.

But then one day,
you cross an invisible threshold.
There’s no signpost, no celebration
just the quiet erosion of what once mattered.

The body falters first.
Not dramatically - no, it’s more insidious than that.
You wake up sore from sleep.
You get winded climbing stairs you once ran.
You start measuring your days in energy, not hours.

Then come the dreams
the ones you clung to like anchors.
They begin to dissolve.
Some shrink into hobbies, others vanish with a sigh.
And the ones that remain?
Too fragile to chase, too old to birth.

Your beliefs shift too.
Not because they were wrong,
but because the world keeps insisting you make room for things
you once swore you’d never tolerate.

You adjust.
You settle.
You survive.

But the worst part
the part no one warns you about
is the people.

One by one,
they begin to leave.

Some give you time.
They let you prepare your goodbye.
Others vanish mid-conversation,
leaving cups half full and promises unfinished.

And what’s cruel is not just that they’re gone
it’s that nothing fills their space.
You try.
You pretend.
You build new connections like patchwork quilts.
But nothing fits quite right.

Because love, real love, isn’t replaced.
It’s carried
as ache,
as memory,
as absence you learn to walk around like a piece of furniture in the dark.

You keep going, of course.
What else can you do?
You make tea.
You water the plants.
You smile at strangers and nod at the sky like it still owes you something.

But deep down, you know:
This is what it means to age
not the wrinkles, not the gray.
It’s the slow, silent disappearing
of everything that once made you feel
alive.
Aging is not just the passage of time , it’s the quiet art of learning how to let go, again and again, without ever quite mastering it.
Cadmus May 22
Sharing my pain would heal me, i thought.
So I opened up
told them everything.
The sleepless nights, the buried fears, the truth.

And they listened.
But not to understand.

They turned my story into gossip.
My wounds into entertainment.
Some even laughed.

That’s when I learned
not everyone deserves your truth.
Some people don’t hold your pain.
They dance to it.
Some hearts are too shallow to hold deep wounds. Share carefully , not every ear deserves your truth.
May 22 · 175
Tired
Cadmus May 22
I am tired from tomorrow…
Its not even here yet.

Tired from yesterday…
Its not even here anymore.

I am tired.

🌂
This poem captures the weight of chronic emotional fatigue - the kind that doesn’t wait for events to unfold but clings to both memory and anticipation. It’s a quiet admission that sometimes, simply existing across time is exhausting.
Cadmus May 22
👺

In this grand  masquerade,
We call
The real world,

No mask,
costs more than

your own true face.

🎭
To be seen as you truly are is the bravest costume and the most unforgiving stage.
May 21 · 118
She Called Me His Name
Cadmus May 21
I never forgave my twin brother
for abandoning me
for six minutes in our mother’s womb,
leaving me there alone,
terrified in the dark,
floating like an astronaut in that silent space,
while kisses rained down on him from the other side.

Those were the longest six minutes of my life
the minutes that made him the firstborn,
the favored one.

Ever since, I raced to be first:
out of the room,
out of the house,
to school,
to the cinema
even if it meant missing the end of the movie.

Then one day, I got distracted,
and he stepped out to the street before me.
Smiling that gentle smile,
he was struck by a car.

I remember my mother
how she rushed from the house
at the sound of the impact,
how she passed by me,
arms outstretched toward his lifeless body,
but she screamed my name.

To this day,
I’ve never corrected her mistake.

It was I who died,
and he who lived.
Sometimes grief chooses the wrong name. And sometimes, we let it.
May 21 · 104
In God, We Don’t Trust
Cadmus May 21
🛐

If my trust in God’s love were complete,

My prayers wouldn’t beg for change,

they’d whisper thanks for the earthquake .

☔️
Faith isn’t always a peaceful acceptance. Sometimes, it’s a whispered rebellion dressed as prayer. because belief is easiest when life is kind, and hardest when we’re asked to live without answers.
May 21 · 50
Who Betrayed You?
Cadmus May 21
🫵

Tell me..

who betrayed you?

Not a stranger,
never a stranger.

Strangers don’t get close enough
to wound that deep.

It was a relative,
with your blood in their mouth.

A friend,
with your secrets in their grip.

A lover,
whispering forever
while packing knives.

Or maybe
that one person you trusted
more than yourself.

Betrayal wears
a familiar face.

It always knows
exactly where to aim.
This poem reframes betrayal not just as a wound, but as a moment of clarity, a harsh teacher that reveals the illusions we wrap around closeness. It reflects on the fragile line between trust and naivety, and the strength forged in the aftermath of pain.
May 21 · 229
Must’ve Been a Spell
Cadmus May 21
🥃

I must’ve been drunk,
under a spell,
or half-asleep
with my soul on mute

because some of the people
I let into my life
were the kind
I wouldn’t let near
if I’d been even
half
conscious.

Not in daylight.
Not with clarity.
Not with my guard up
and my self-respect awake.

like a fool
hosting thieves
in the middle of a dream.

🥃
This piece captures the bewilderment and regret of past emotional decisions, highlighting how vulnerability, distraction, or denial can invite people into our lives who never deserved the invitation. It’s a bitter laugh at our own temporary blindness.
May 21 · 139
Between Stations
Cadmus May 21
🚂

We board with desire.

We return with clarity.

And somewhere between the stations,

we learn

What was attainable.

And what was worth carrying.

🚊
This poem captures the quiet transformation that time brings. We begin our journey burdened with ambition, desire, and expectation—only to return tempered by experience, having shed what we once thought essential. It’s a meditation on simplicity, loss, and wisdom.
May 20 · 190
The Fox’s Glory
Cadmus May 20
🦊

Even a fox
has heroic tales to tell
Epic chases, Narrow escapes,
Bravery under Moonlight.

But,
every victory
was won
against chicken.

🐓
A satirical reflection on how those who boast the loudest often choose the weakest opponents. It mocks false bravado and the way predators dress up their predation as valor.
Cadmus May 20
They laughed when he showed up
with a résumé in hand.
Tail tucked, horns sanded down,
wore a tie, shook hands.

“I used to tempt kings,
whispered wars into ears.
Now I scroll headlines
and choke back tears.”

He tried marketing
but humans were better
at selling lies with smiling teeth
and discount codes for sin.

He applied for politics
but found the position filled
by those who make devils
blush in admiration.

Tried tech
but algorithms already knew
how to addict, divide,
and hollow out souls
with precision.

Even in war,
they no longer need whispers.
They bomb hospitals
and call it strategy.
He offered corruption.
They offered quarterly targets.

“They don’t need me anymore,”
he sighed to the clerk.
“They’ve mastered the craft.
I was just a spark
They made it an industry.”

Now he wanders,
CV in flames,
hoping someone will want
a washed-up fallen angel
who simply can’t compete
with modern man.
This poem uses satire to explore the depths of human moral decay, flipping the traditional narrative of evil. Once feared, Satan is now obsolete, as humanity’s capacity for cruelty, manipulation, and greed has far surpassed mythic malevolence.
May 20 · 147
Invisible Blood
Cadmus May 20
🩸

We all have wounds.
Not all of them
show blood
trickling on the skin
those are the lesser ones.

The body heals.
Scabs form.
Scars fade.

But some wounds
bleed a different kind of red
silent,
invisible,
constant.

They live beneath smiles,
hide behind handshakes,
and echo
in quiet rooms.

No bandage fits them.
No doctor sees them.
And yet,
they shape us more
than any knife ever could.
This poem explores the unseen nature of emotional and psychological pain. While physical wounds are acknowledged and treated, the deeper, invisible ones often go unnoticed, yet they linger far longer and shape who we become.
Cadmus May 20
🙏🏻

They feast with the wolves…

Bark with with the dogs…

Weep with the shepherds…

Guests at every table,

but a pillar at none.

Call them seasonal?
Situational?

Maybe,
Socially fluent? morally absent?

Friends to everyone…
and loyal to no one.

☝️
This poem reflects the nature of surface-level friendships. those who adapt to every group but commit to none. Present in moments of ease, absent in moments of need.
May 19 · 791
Don’t Open
Cadmus May 19
🚪

If your past knocks,
don’t answer.

It’s not here to talk

it’s here to wreck
what took you years
to rebuild.

Let it knock.
Let it wait.
Let it rot.

Just don’t forget:
some doors
are better sealed
forever.
This piece is a reminder that not every return deserves a welcome. The past, especially the parts you’ve outgrown, often carries the power to unravel healing. Strength lies not in revisiting, but in refusing to regress.
May 19 · 308
Not Lost
Cadmus May 19
Sometimes,

you find yourself walking alone.

not because you’re lost,

but because you know

the road

so **** well.
This poem reframes solitude not as confusion, but as clarity born from experience. It honors the strength of those who choose to walk alone - not from loneliness, but from hard-earned wisdom.
May 19 · 73
Except Your Mother
Cadmus May 19
Apart from your mother…

Only insurance companies
pray you live forever
no crashes, no coughs,
no inconvenient surprises.

They pray for your safety
with more sincerity
than your friends ever did.

No backhanded compliments,
no masked resentment.

They’ll cheer for your success
as long as it’s mild.
Celebrate your fitness
but not too wild.
This poem exposes the transactional nature of modern relationships, using insurance companies as a metaphor for the rare, conditional loyalty found in a world where even love is often veiled in competition, envy, or quiet sabotage.
May 19 · 77
If a Dog Could Speak
Cadmus May 19
If a dog could speak,
he might look up at you and say:

“Please
don’t call your human traitor… a dog.
Don’t give our name
to those who lie,
who bite the hand
then kiss the air.

We don’t forget
a kindness once given
not a crust of bread,
not a warm place by the fire,
not a voice that called us friend.

We wait at the door
long after the footsteps fade.
We guard graves.
We sleep beside sorrow
without asking why.

When one of ours is hurt,
we circle close.
We bleed with them.
We never leave
unless we’re forced.

We don’t scheme.
We don’t pretend.
We don’t smile
with a knife behind our back.

So next time a human
sells love for pride,
abandons a friend in fear,
or forgets the one
who once saved them

Just call him Human.

For we know no other species
that buries loyalty
beneath convenience,
that trades truth
for applause,
that remembers insults
but forgets grace.

We,
with paws and silence,
would die for those
who once fed us.

You,
with words and reason,
sometimes ****
what you claim to love.

So do not stain our name
with betrayal.
Do not dress your disloyalty
in fur and fangs.

We are not like you.

And perhaps,
that’s why you love us.
Because somewhere,
in your better dreams,
you wish
you could be
a little more dog.”
This poem gives voice to the silent loyalty of dogs, contrasting it with the conditional, often self-serving nature of human relationships. It challenges the use of “dog” as an insult, suggesting that even in their silence, animals often carry more integrity than those who speak.
May 19 · 88
No Enemies
Cadmus May 19
Its very weird…

I looked into their faces
the ones who truly broke me.
No enemies among them.

Just Brutus,
in many forms,
smiling.
Familiar hands,
and mouths,
that once said

I never would.


as they held the knife
like a gift.
This piece reflects on the dissonance between pain and intent - how the deepest betrayals often come not from enemies, but from those closest to us. The reference to Brutus evokes the timeless sting of betrayal by someone trusted, echoing Caesar’s famous last breath: “Et tu, Brute?”
May 19 · 171
Take Off Your Clothes
Cadmus May 19
Take off your clothes.
Slow.
Let them slip like secrets.
Let the silk confess.

Step forward.
Bare skin. Bare soul.
No perfume to distract me,
no colors to lie.

Drop the stories,
the stitched-up smiles,
the lace of excuses.

I want you raw,
**** under the light,
where nothing hides
and everything dares to be real.

You’re never more beautiful
than when you’re stripped
of all that isn’t you.

Take off your clothes.
Let me meet
THE NAKED TRUTH.
This poem uses sensual imagery to expose a deeper metaphor, how truth, like the human body, is most powerful when unadorned. It speaks to the beauty of vulnerability and the courage it takes to stand uncloaked in front of another.
May 19 · 74
Nemesis, Awakened
Cadmus May 19
You think this is a tantrum?

Child

This is the wrath of gods
who waited centuries
before they raised their hand.

I am not your wounded girl.
I am Nemesis unchained,
Kali in stillness before the storm.
My silence was mercy.
You mistook it for peace.

I do not wail. I summon.
I do not flinch. I fracture.
Your name is already ash
on the altar of my patience.

I offered grace.
Now I offer consequence.

Run if you like.
Pray if you must.
But even Olympus learned
no one walks away
from a goddess enraged.
Anger, when divine, doesn’t shout. It judges. And every empire built on dismissal learns the cost of silence misread.
May 18 · 226
I Am Sorry I Cheated
Cadmus May 18
Love…

I owe you an apology
not for what I did,
but for what your dreams said I did.

Somewhere in your sleep,
I lost my mind, my vows,
and apparently my clothes.

You woke with distance in your eyes,
and I knew:
I’d betrayed you in a world
I never touched.

So let me say this
I’m sorry for the man
your dream invented.

And I promise,
as long as you sleep without nightmares,
I’ll stay faithful…

even in your imagination.
Sometimes we carry our fears into dreams, and wake with the ache of something that never happened. Love means apologizing anyway , not for guilt, but for care. Because even imagined hurt deserves a real embrace.
May 18 · 202
Let that Boat Sink
Cadmus May 18
Let it go under.

Neither the rowers are honest,
nor the passengers loyal.

Let it sink…

For in this floating masquerade,
drowning is the only honest act.
Sometimes, destruction is clarity. When all roles are false and all hands unclean, letting go is not surrender, it’s truth.
May 17 · 115
The Poet’s Math
Cadmus May 17
Poetry,
a mirror cracked in verse
each shard reflecting
a softer curse.

Three parts ache,
one part light,
we write not from joy,
but from the fight
to find it.
Poetry is rarely a ledger of joy. Across major collections, nearly 70–80% of poems carry sadness, bitterness, or reflection, while only 20–30% attempt joy. We don’t write because we’re happy -  we write because we’re haunted.
May 17 · 167
My Bad
Cadmus May 17
It wasn’t you…

You were exactly
as you are.

It was me,
who turned your smile into a sunrise,
and blamed you,
when it rained.

☔️
We don’t fall because others lift us too high, we fall because we climbed with our own illusions. My mistake wasn’t in trusting you. It was in scripting an ending you never signed up for.
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