Once more she drifts deep,

snowflakes,

feathers,

kisses soft,

blackness wraps her tight.

Contrast whispers in the void,

light and dark dance endlessly.

You, boy,
A black sun in my sky,
Stomping through my soul,
Leaving craters where love once stood.

The ashtray’s a graveyard—
Cigarette corpses stacked high.
Whiskey whispers in mason jars,
Coffee cold as my heart.

Red lights, stop signs,
I’ve been stuck in this motionless grind,
Unhappy for years,
Dragged down by your weight.

Your heart, left at the door—
A cruel offering,
A beast hiding in your skin.
You sprung bitter tears like a broken fountain.
Time ticking, killing,
Till you become a man.

Will you shake me loose,
Like the spare change you never count?
Burn me out like yesterday’s Polaroid,
Edges curling, my face fading.

I’ll drink to tomorrow.
I’ll drink to forgetting.
But your shadow, boy,
Still lingers in the cracks of my mind.

I am the fire.
I am the scream.
And you?
You’re nothing but a dream dissolving in smoke.

I am the jaded *******,
not the one cradled by silver spoons,
but a child of the streets,
mud-caked and angel-forsaken.
Guardian wings flap for the golden ones,
while the rest of us crawl,
bloodied, broken,
dragging our shadows into the abyss.

"You won't see me again,"
she whispered, a ghost of smoke,
her cigarette smothered in the ashtray's grave.
Her footsteps faded like a forgotten hymn,
leaving me alone
with the scent of ashes and endings.

Another one down,
another lost pilgrim,
another candle snuffed before the altar.
The floor drank his blood,
the walls sang dirges,
no resurrection for the weary,
no happy endings for the ******.

Tears poured,
anointing the sullied Madonna,
her hands heavy with despair,
her womb cradling a violent hope.
The Christ-child screams
before the world rejects him too.

Where are the chosen ones?
Where is the light they promised?
The night laughs,
a cruel lover’s embrace,
and I stumble, jaded,
into the arms of the void.

The room sagged, a heartbeat heavy with rosewood and dusk,
the kind of smell that reminds you of loss before it even arrives.
She moved like a dream someone forgot to finish—
feet barely touching the ground,
a laugh sharp enough to cut the silence,
and soft enough to leave it bleeding.

A single candle. One flame. One moment.
The wax slid down in slow-motion,
ancient rivers carving a map nobody could follow.
She closed her eyes and blew,
and the world coughed, staggered,
like a drunk trying to remember the way home.

The dark had teeth that night.
Her tears carried galaxies—
tiny universes wrapped in the memory of something
too big to name, too loud to quiet.
Each scar was a story;
each story a secret she’d never speak aloud.
Abandonment wasn’t just a shadow;
it was a shadow that knew her name.

Angels didn’t wear halos here.
They had fists. They broke doors.
They screamed louder than the thoughts in her head,
and for a moment—just one—
she thought about stepping off the edge.
But the edge folded itself into something softer,
like rain dissolving into the ocean—
gone, but never really leaving.

She drifted then.
The river was black velvet, and she was the needle,
slipping beneath the surface of her own reflection.
Mirrors stared at mirrors stared at mirrors,
each one laughing a little quieter than the last.
The serpents in her veins stretched lazy and golden,
curling around her like a lullaby that forgot how to end.

She stood naked in that moment—
not in body, but in soul.
Womanhood wasn’t a choice; it was a verdict.
It wrapped her in smoke and shadow,
a shroud that smelled like desire and regret.
The world didn’t notice. It never does.
She disappeared slowly,
a ripple in the fabric of something too big to understand.

Her voice was a whisper woven from silk and static.
It found him. Only him.
His name hit the air like a match on gasoline,
burning white-hot and hollow.
She unraveled in the glow—
her edges ash, her center a flicker
fighting to stay lit.

Morning didn’t rise; it crept.
The air tasted like regret and cigarettes.
Dust floated in the sunlight,
a million little infinities caught
between forgetting and forgiving.
Love lay there, cold and still,
its mask cracked just enough
to show the liar beneath.