I met a queer man in a modern land,
Who spoke of brooks of bone and shattered stone.
He dipped his trembling fingers in the sand,
And watched the leaves drift far beneath the foam.

In shadows, soon, he found a hollow nook,
A corpse lay still upon a broken tome.
Upon its cover, words the man mistook:
"I bear a name that tarnishes like loam."

He asked, “What name is yours, what cursed brand?”
The corpse did stir and whispered through the gloom:
“I am Melarubiconib, condemned,
A name of silence, carved upon my tomb.”

The man stood silent, frozen by its breath,
The name, like shadow, led him into death

(this thing is a bit wild but I became obbsesed wwith the concept , apoligies if it makes no sense)            

                        Death be proud||du O R pe B hta E d
                               Forever lost||T s O lre VERO f
                      all has said truth||H t URT dia S s A h LL a
ghost magot and buried nun ||n UNDE i R ubdnat O g A m T so H

__
              /              \
            /  Locked tight  \
        /  upon the earth, \
        |    a lid sealed firm, |
        |  to hide the birth of  |
        |  what we seek and fear, |
        |  all buried deep, too  |
        |  close, too near.        |
        | Curiosity breaks the seal,|
        | whispers rise, dark truths |
        | revealed, shadows crawl, |
        \ through the crack, /
          \  they escape them all.  /
          | From every grief, to    |
          | every pain, out they    |
          | surge like heavy rain.  |
          | Yet, deep within, there |
          | lies a glow, the last  |
          | of things we may not    |
          | know. When all seems    |
            \ lost, so faint, so slight,/
              \ Hope, a flicker, a    /
                \  final light.    /

Oh, Para—

Paramedic?
I could also have healed you;
Para, you don’t need a medic.

Paraplegic?
I could also have been broken for you;
Para, you don’t need a plegic.

Paramilitary?
I would have fought your battles;
Para, you don’t need a military.

Why, oh why, could it not have stayed—
Just Parame?

She’s Morphine, queen of the vaccines,
She bruises so cold with nooses of plated gold.
A needle’s kiss to silence the screams,
In veins she flows, makes the broken bold.

With hollow eyes, she numbs the ache,
A dance of shadows in a hazy dream.
Her whispers soothe, her promises fake,
Like liquid sin in a silver gleam.

She lures with comfort, draped in deceit,
A siren song beneath trembling skin.
Each breath grows slower, bitter yet sweet,
As she pulls them deeper, where light grows thin.

Her kingdom reigns in shattered minds,
A queen of solace for the souls who weep.
But every high leaves truth behind,
And in her grasp, they fall too deep.

The final dose, the fatal crown,
Golden nooses now tighten tight.
The queen smiles soft, then drags them down,
To sleep forever in endless night.