She said he hurt her,  
a wound wrapped in soft lullabies,  
his voice a serpent  
coiling 'round her dreams,  
where the green fern forest  
breathed secrets into the night,  
and moss shrouded the bones  
of forgotten civilizations.

In the day,  
she fashioned dreams  
like delicate glass,  
eyes half-closed,  
floating through the crowd,  
a specter among the living,  
while shadows,  
like whispered promises,  
clung to her skin.

At night,  
the seconds drip drop,  
heavy as rain on a tin roof,  
each tick a heartbeat,  
each pause a gasp,  
he follows her  
as a prayer follows its own  
search for grace,  
the memory of a violence  
that needed no voice,  
only the cold embrace  
of silence wrapped around her.

In the twilight,  
she gathers the frayed edges of her soul,  
sifting through the dark  
for remnants of light,  
for the lullabies  
that cradle her in the depths,  
reminding her that even in shadows,  
the heart learns to beat again,  
even in the echo of pain,  
there is a flicker,  
a stubborn flame.

In the stillness, she danced,  
water swirling like secrets,  
time a mere whisper,  
eyes closed to the chill,  
skin alive with the pulse of the depths.  

A fleeting liberation,  
where moments collide and shatter,  
thoughts unfurling like wings,  
forgiveness a fragile thread,  
I am the universe,  
emotions spreading like wildfire,  
sleep draped in silken shadows,  
light filtering through the cracks,  
nakedness swathed in raw truth.  

Tomorrow hovers, a shadow,  
a bruise in hues of dusk—  
she stands fierce, a believer,  
an idol crumbling softly,  
wonder scattered like autumn leaves,  
complex,  
a hundred regrets unraveled  
by the tenderness of touch,  
the clash of hearts.  

Forgotten streets murmur,  
eyes gazing through fractured glass,  
twisted futures loom,  
the shell of dreams yet unformed,  
caught in the symphony of now,  
overlooking the madness,  
the deceptions,  
the lovers broken like fragile glass.  

The scratch of pen on paper,  
the rhythm of a heartbeat,  
inked memories blur,  
sweet sorrow cascading—  
not unlike revelations,  
a bitter pill to swallow,  
the absurd,  
the shifting of my visage,  
the lens refocused,  
the key turned in the labyrinth of thought.  

Chains echo in the quiet,  
the poppies dance like sisters,  
bound by a thread of crimson,  
tears cascading,  
sinking in solitude,  
loving through the ache,  
death approaching,  
a tender, inevitable embrace.