The room is still there, though the house forgets its name.
The walls have begun to breathe again
soft exhalations of rosewater and ash.
No one remembers who first laid down the sheets,
only that they remain unwrinkled,
smelling faintly of fever and honey.

The lovers do not age.
They do not speak.
Their language is older than sound,
older than breath.
Their bodies are relics in motion,
moving as roots do in soil,
slow and entwined,
eternal
never needing to surface.

Outside the windowless house,
new roads have eaten the gardens,
cities have risen and collapsed,
wars fought for less than the silence they share.
Still, no one knocks.

A girl once ran her fingers along the lock
and forgot her own name.
A priest walked past with salt on his tongue
and swallowed it without prayer.
Only the wind returns,
curious and uninvited.

Inside,
the bed has grown antlers.
The ceiling drips colorless rain.
A vine pulses through the mattress like a second heartbeat.
The lovers, blind as moonless sky,
continue–slow, sacred, certain.

No hunger. No ******.
Only the eternity of touch.

Some say the house is a mouth now,
that when you stand too near,
it whispers your deepest ache
and waits to be fed.

And somewhere, beyond time,
a third body shifts beneath the covers.
It was not invited.
It was always meant to arrive.
You.

Not every fire burns the flesh.
Some arrive with breathless stillness,
draped in dusk-colored light,
a gaze too wide for one face to hold.
blinded still –
I called to you.

I did not know
what love could become
when it puts down its veil
and steps forward,
not as comfort,
but as divinity.

You were not gentle.

You stood where the air bent around you–
more presence than person,
a voice like thunder wrapped in silk,
fingertips trailing the edges of my ruin
like a priest naming what can’t be saved.

And still, I stayed.

Where are the days
when love was a glance from across the room,
a laugh shared over fruit and rain?
Now it is an archangel
descending through my ribs,
setting fire to my lungs
my soul catching flame
with every beat that dares endure you.

You asked for nothing–
only that I remain still
as you unfolded
in the space between heartbeats.

Who are you?

You are not lover, not ghost,
but the god hiding in desire.
You are the pollen of all beginnings,
the storm-light before any world was shaped,
the echo that built the sky
just to have somewhere to fall.

You are the mirror held to my face
after I have vanished.
And yet–
I call to you still.
Not because I will survive the blaze,
nor revive a soul,
but because I would rather burn in your nearness
than live untouched.

I loved you in the silence,
the forgotten, aching still,
that throbbed beneath the rain–
in clocks too slow to ****.

You were not lost or vanished,
not ghost, nor fleeting flame–
but time rewrote your nearness,
and absence learned my name.

I loved you when the dishes
lay waiting in the sink,
when dusk fell down too early
and left no space to think.

You were not made for statues,
for saints or poet’s pen–
you were the crack in breathing
that let the sorrow in.

I do not write you letters,
for words fall through the sieve;
I loved you past the promise
of anything I’d give.

Not for your tender smiling
or how your hands once pressed–
but for the way you linger
inside my failing chest.

So stay, not as a memory,
not shadow, smoke, or sound–
but as the ache I carry
when no one is around.

You wake with petals in your hair
and sleep still clinging to your lashes
not the sleep of peace,
but the hush that follows weeping,
when the heart forgets its own weight.

I don’t ask what ghosts kept you
tossing through the hours.
I don’t name the pain
stitched in the arch of your back.
You’ve built your grace from ruin–
I’ve learned to admire the architecture.

Tonight, I won’t touch your wounds.
I’ll touch the skin around them,
where the light still gathers
when you breathe without defense.

Tell me–
is it love
if I hold you
like I’m not afraid of breaking,
like your shaking
is just music I haven’t learned yet?

You speak like someone
who’s forgotten how to be held
without preparing for departure.

That’s alright.
I don’t need your trust in full bloom.
Just the seed.
Just the breath you give me
before the sentence ends.

Your fingers curl
as if expecting to be pried away–
but I stay.
No bargains. No salvation.
Just warmth,
and the promise not to name this rescue.

I smile.
I’ve seen braver women
fall apart for lesser reasons.

So when your mask slips,
when the tiredness wins
and the strong part of you
asks to rest–

remember this:

Not the way I touched you
but the way I listened,
how I stayed quiet enough
for your silence to speak.

Not for mercy,
not to save,
but because I wanted
to be the first place
you didn’t have to fight.

You whisper like it’s truth–
My body isn’t beautiful.
And then I want the rivers to rise,
want the trees to lean in,
want the stars to unpin themselves
and spell your shape across the dark.
Let the sky spill its archive of light,
let it fall open and weep
the exact shape of your name.

I want my hands to become mirrors,
quiet pools catching your laughter,
so you can see what I see–
how your skin bends light
like a secret the world wasn’t ready for.

And still, you say I look at you
like someone who’s come to take–
but I was only holding still
because your nearness
made the world hold its breath.
Your lashes moved
like small wild things
learning not to flinch.

Your body breathes softly
like a small bird, sparrow caught between sky and storm,
your chest rising beneath my palms–
every sensation felt with a finger tip
not a signal for danger,
but a song in the making.
And every time you shift,
I hear the hush
of wings folding,
not in fear–
but in arrival.

Mind’s wide open — body twitchin’, glitchin’, this pain is *******.
Thoughts crash like ******' panes in a kitchen, glass on floor
Glass in my grin shame diggin’ in, full pain.
Guilt pokin’ ribs like needles in skin.
Fire in my nerves, yeah this pain ain’t pretend,
Legal highs got me beggin’ for the end.
Eyes sunken, sleep duckin’, truth runnin’,
Mind ******’ me harder than life ever done it.
Dreams don’t visit, they drive-by in silence, alliance, defiance
While trauma backs up like a ***** with a license.
Heart skips like a junk beat glitched,
Shadow follows me like a snitch I ditched.
High legit — but the fit don’t click,
Cracked like a token tossed in the pit.
Broken on rocks while I fake that grit,
Every ******’ breath like a punch I split.
Gotta detox, get clean, get straight, give me rocks, big blocks
But mind’s on fire, sittin’ there, laced with hate.
It’s crawlin’ my skull, through the ceiling it leaks,
Whisperin’ sins in the hospital sheets.
IV drippin’ like a priest in heat,
Tryna baptize my veins with defeat.
Maybe I’m vain, maybe I’m ******' insane,
But this brain got rooms that scream *******, pain pain pain.
Temptation ain’t knockin’, it kicks the door in,
Talkin’ bends, ends, old sins, fake friends.
Promisin’ peace from a pill with a grin,
But I know that thrill ends under my skin.
Open door — I step right through, roof lit floor
Ain’t scared of hell, I’ve been see-through.
Shoulda died — yeah, death ******’ lied,
Left me half-man, half suicide, final ride what's inside see the blind.
Drugs in the drawer hum lullabies low,
Beggin’ me sweet to just let go.
Living’s a joke, the punchline’s stale,
Body in a bed with a soul on bail.
Paranoia sharp like a blade of mice, grain of rice, pipes that are spliced, in and out,
Gnawin’ my spine with feral vice.
Creepin’ up bones, crawlin’ through wires,
Slime in my mind that never tires, never lies.
Smiles from the past? *****, they charge, no they charge
Fake hugs, fake love — just emotional barge, living off drugs
Body sold, mind hijacked and bruised,
Truth tastes rotten when your teeth are loose, bones once whole broken forgotten
Tongue spits prayers in a ****-you voice, without choice,
While Morph and Feni dull the noise.
Stack of Beni like a hitman’s fee, trami and whites.
Every pill a silent plea.
War still young, but my soul’s unravelled, minds travelled,
Heart don’t beat, it ******’ gravelled.
I claw through the dirt just to breathe again, woke up to the pain,
Fightin’ shadows with a rusted pen an broken Zen.
I danced with edges, glad I'm not vedges, still ****** in the hedges, kissed death’s mouth,
Woke up in pain with the wires pulled out, ribs sticking out, blood all about,
This ain’t redemption, this ain’t a hope song,
It’s grit in the lungs and the will to prolong.
Me vs. demons, streaming, screaming, bare-knuckled, no bluff, No luck, no God, just drugs and rough.
And if I make it out, still half-alive,
It’s ‘cause I crawled through ******’ knives to survive, and if I don't well guess I died.

She moves like a rumor through the stone-breath streets,
not loud, not swift, but with a hush that bends the flame from a free standing street light.
Shoes unlaced, hands full of rainwater and nettles,
her silence does the talking.

The dogs stop barking when she passes.
A window closes in a house that forgot it had fear.
Even the birds-those clattering liars
draw their wings in like secrets.

She doesn’t look back.
She doesn’t need to.

In her wake:
a coat on a fencepost still warm,
a garden blooming red where no seed was sown,
and a man on a rooftop, forgetting why he climbed.