The crippling pain, even gods endure,
To long for a place, a memory secure.
Devoid I may be, of emotion's tide,
Yet still I ache when night's voices subside.

A hope to hear them knocks at my door,
Though the sky holds no stars anymore.
The need for faces draws my eye
To search for light in a vacant sky.

Cruel webs of fate grant fleeting views
Of what I’ve denied, yet cannot lose.
Now, this longing’s the last to sever—
Release it, and I am whole forever.

One night, they knocked upon my walls—
No one had dared before.
I waited, hoping they might tire,
But footsteps echoed more.

Still, hope flickered in that quiet place,
That someone might sit near,
To share a word or simply stay,
And chase away the fear.

Then, into view, they softly came—
A name I asked in vain.
They smiled at me and whispered low,
“Death is what I'm named.”

"Would you listen to my tale?" I asked,
My voice unsure, restrained.
Afraid they'd turn and walk away,
Yet still, with me, remained.

They grasped my hand, so ugly, cold,
A touch I’d never known.
I felt the weight of final breaths,
Profound, yet not alone.

I read my stories, smiled, they heard,
But time soon beckoned near.
Content, I stood to face the end,
Yet saw them shed a tear.

"Next time," they said, "please tell me more,"
And then they turned away.
Now, I wait, and write again,
For that return someday.

The strings once bound me, though their tale I despised,
For freedom I longed, my own story devised.
So I pulled the threads and broke my chains,
At last, I was fateless, but freedom brought pains.

I watched as my destined tale turned to dust,
The heavens quaked, and hell’s gates ******.
But with arrogance, I shook my head,
I denied them both and forged my stead.

The angels mocked, the demons sneered,
For now, I belonged to no tale they revered.
Yet fear took root, though still I dared,
Clinging to stories, of others I shared.

I stole their pieces, made them mine,
In the shadows of fate, I dared to shine.
Indeed, I’ve become what they all proclaim—
The fateless being, untamed by name.

The man walked smiling, purpose unknown,
Bonds he denied, claiming unworthy alone.
A lover wept, her tears like snow,
But still, he whispered, "I cannot grow."

People mocked, yet on he went,
Angel of humility, ever-present.
Wings of virtue weighed him down,
Day and night, in silence, he'd drown.

A child begged with trembling plea,
"Save my mother, please set her free."
The man reached out, but then withdrew,
As the angel whispered, "This is not for you."

A tear fell slow, and with a sigh,
He softly spoke, "Unworthy am I."
The child looked deep, both man and guide,
With stone in hand, no fear to hide.

She slit his throat, and blood ran red,
The angel smiled, the man near dead.
"Do not save yourself, preacher of humility,
Unworthy you are," the angel cried.

The man, at peace, let his hand fall,
Smiling at last, he’d answered the call.
Freed of his virtue, his burdens deep,
Worthy at last of eternal sleep.

Never have I loved another,
Friends I claimed, mere masks to cover.
Family ties feel cold and distant,
In this web, my heart’s insistent.

The one I cherished, the light I sought,
May just be another pawn I’ve caught.
Lies so profound, entwined in my core,
Harm inflicted, yet I feel no score.

For I am vile, a hideous shade,
The demon I feared, now unafraid.
In the mirror, I see the truth unfold,
The face I dreaded, the story told.

Heaven’s grace has not abandoned me,
It’s I who turned from its clarity.
Fate’s strings remain, untouched by time,
Yet I’ve crafted my own silent crime.

What I sought to gain, the harm I’ve sown,
The answers linger, but I stand alone.
Indeed, I am the being I loathe the most,

A haunting reflection, a chilling ghost.

Deception, a term I never claimed,
Yet now the truth has me untamed.
I weave the guise of saintly grace,
Pretending kindness, wearing a face.

I craft illusions of love so bright,
Yet deep within, I harbor spite.
In hatred’s grip, I twist and turn,
A vile creature with much to learn.

Goals I held, so close yet far,
Trapped in the shadows of my own bizarre.
Proclaiming purity, naive and true,
While hiding the darkness that’s born anew.

I speak of manipulation, a master’s art,
Blinded to the lies that dwell in my heart.
Bonds I’ve shattered, lives undone,
The guilt, it seems, I’ve never known.

For in the mirror, the truth’s laid bare:
I’ve loved but one—myself, laid bare.
The obsession with hate, a cruel embrace,
Reflects the monster I’ve come to face.

I harmed the one I claimed to adore,
Yet here I stand, breathing once more.
Promises made to stop this fight,
Now echo softly in the dead of night.

Demons I loathed still reside within,
Controlled by me, a twisted kin.
Is it regret that haunts my mind,
Or the weight of the lies I’ve left behind?

Master of deception, indeed I stand,
A tangled web spun by my own hand.

I’ll gaze into your eyes and mirror your smile,
Feel your pain, and share your joy awhile.
Yet in return, a piece I’ll take,
For I am a thief, and stories I make.

A hunger deeper than the abyss, I hold,
I’ll walk beside you in the night so cold.
But in return, with quiet grace,
I’ll write your tale and leave no trace.

For I am a weaver, with timeless ink,
Stealing moments faster than you think.

I’ll bear your sins, and serve your hell,
And in return, grant heaven’s swell.
But will you let me walk your way?
A part of your story, come what may?

For mine is lost, in time’s cruel sway,
Shattered fragments, more than stars can say.