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She said,
“I don’t fear the fire—
I fear the incense trails
on other bodies’ breath.”



But I was all flicker,
no extinguish.
A shrine lit by accidents—
my spine a wick,
my throat a reliquary
of half-confessed names.

She called it jealousy—
but it bloomed like spellwork.
Her fingers pressed into my pulse
  like an augury,
reading the tremors
to divine where I'd strayed.

She didn’t need reassurance.
She needed conquest.
To draw her scent down my collarbones,
  to salt the earth
where other lips once camped.

I told her,
“There’s no one else.”
But I said it like a fugitive
sheltering in her mouth—
  not because I was hunted,
but because she was the only place
I stopped running.

She kissed me
not like a lover,
but like a sorceress
marking her territory
with a language written in bitten skin
and satin breath.

Her thighs—
a trap I walked into willingly.
Her moans—
a requiem for every ghost I left unburied.

She wanted to be the only altar
my sins could kneel to.
And I—
I wanted to burn
   only for her.

No more incense trails.
No more phantom mouths.
Let the others vanish into smoke—
     hers was the flame I faced.

And stayed.
It’s strange, I don’t know what’s happening to me tonight
I’m looking at you as if for the first time
Still more words, always the same words
I no longer know how to tell you
Nothing but words
But you are that beautiful love story I’ll never stop reading
Easy words, fragile words—it was too beautiful
You are of yesterday and tomorrow
Far too beautiful
Forever my only truth
But the time of dreams is over
Memories fade too when we forget them
You’re like the wind that makes violins sing
And carries away the scent of roses

Caramels, candies, and chocolates
Sometimes, I just don’t understand you
Thanks, but not for me—you can give them to another
One who loves the wind and the scent of roses
As for me, tender words wrapped in sweetness
Rest on my lips but never reach my heart

One more word
Words and words and words
Listen to me
Words and words and words
I beg you
Words and words and words
I swear to you
Words and words and words and words and words
And still more words that you scatter to the wind

This is my fate—to speak to you
To speak to you like the very first time
Still more words, always the same words
How I wish you could understand me
Nothing but words
That you’d listen to me just once
Magic words, strategic words that ring false
You are my forbidden dream
Yes, so false
My only torment and my only hope
Nothing stops you once you start
If only you knew how much I long for a little silence
To me, you are the only music that makes the stars dance on the dunes

Caramels, candies, and chocolates
If you didn’t already exist, I’d invent you
Thanks, but not for me—you can give them to another
One who loves the stars on the dunes
As for me, tender words wrapped in sweetness
Rest on my lips but never reach my heart

One more word, just a single word
Words and words and words
Listen to me
Words and words and words
I beg you
Words and words and words
I swear to you
Words and words and words and words
And still more words that you scatter to the wind

You are so beautiful
Words and words and words
You are so beautiful
Words and words and words
You are so beautiful
Words and words and words
You are so beautiful
Words and words and words and words and words
And still more words that you scatter to the wind
Paroles, Paroles by Dalida and Alain Delon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhK_XazdBUk

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/
Could I answer "who am I?"
Even if I where to ask myself?
I'd surely catch myself being something else
Draped in some kind of forgotten lie

I bend and split like beams of light
Fractured through the prism of life
My personality's gone under the knife
I don't recognize myself, try as I might

Maybe it's been too long to yearn
For something that's too far gone to grasp
So are these last year's only pointless laps?
There's no familiar street for me to turn

I'm lost amongst my own false faces
And I can no longer find my own
This is my cross to bare alone
Falling out of my own graces

©2025
A poet once shouted, “Untrue!
Your pieces are kitsch in a queue!
You mimic the frame,
But butcher the name—
It’s cosplay, not art, that you do.”
I have carried ruined kings, gods unmade—names lost before the tide could whisper them back. They clutch at the world, drowning in its silence, unraveling in the undertow—grief, love, memory, all stripped to salt as I return their reaped souls to my master. But none fought as Ceyx did. None waged war against water like a man who thought devotion alone could defy the pull.

He did not go quietly. No—he was stubborn, thrashing, calling your name as if the air itself might bear him back to you. Foolish. Pitiful. The wind cannot answer, nor can its plea to the sky make it break open and return the drowned to the living. Only the waves cradled him—only the sea listened, softening his cries beneath her hush. He should have surrendered then, uncoiled from longing, let the waters do as waters must. And yet, love makes fools of men.

But the sea is merciful. She does not leave suffering untended. After you abandoned him, left him to drown in the storm of lost faith, she gathered him, tucked him into her depths, quieted him where grief could no longer wound. She did not steal him—no, she saved him. From longing. From pain. From you.

Yet you still wait. You who wanders like a living ghost each night, who clutches absence as though it will one day answer you. What is it you crave? Forgiveness? There is none. Redemption? Life does not grant second chances. No—the ocean has already taken what you failed to hold. She has already soothed the unrest your hands left upon him.

Jump, Alcyone. Would love not demand you follow him? Let my master weigh your sins upon the tide, your false devotion, your grasping hands that let love slip like water between your fingers. The fates demand balance, and the waves are merciful. She will not swallow you in cruelty. No, she will cradle you, as she cradled him. She will mend your guilty soul. She will make you whole.

She will set Ceyx free—free from the deception you wove in the stars, the guise of love you wore like a veil. She will free him when she reveals the truth. How you sent him out upon the waves and waited for the return of not the man, but the name. He loved you dearly, Alcyone. He defied me, defied my master, and yet his soul persists in her care—all because he cannot let go of your neglectful, withering love. The least you can do is surrender. Offer yourself in kind. Let me take your soul and lay it at my master’s feet. It is only fair.

~~~

The tide does not return what she has claimed,  
Yet her mercy stirs beneath where the wind still weeps.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

The sea does not forgive, nor shall she grieve,
No prayer can break the wave’s decree.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

You let him drown; you watched, you betrayed,
The waves bore witness where devotion waned.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

What justice waits, if you remain?
What hope endures beyond the deep?
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

He called out your name, yet only my master replied,
No stars remained to cast their guide.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

There is no love left upon the shore,
Only sorrow stands where love once swore.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

The wind cries out, yet love’s silence grows,
No voice remains where love once breathed.
The tide will not return the one she has saved.
Grief binds his soul, yet I will bring him justice.
The tide takes, the wind laments, and Death obeys. But even if forgotten, a debt does not vanish—it is whispered between waves, passed from hand to hand like a fate unwilling to be denied.

Thus arrives the fourth reckoning in 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. And waiting—waiting is many things. Perhaps a promise. A curse. A duty. A deception. A surrender. A choice that was never truly a choice at all.


(This was originally intended to be where it ends, but alas, we are not done yet. Some insight in an intermission in case you are interested: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5078317/wont-you-wait-just-a-moment-longer/ )
A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****.
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.

Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.

But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.

Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.

When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day
If you really want to see what's going on in Gaza, you have to go to sites such as Reddit and look at the World news subreddits. Then you'll understand.
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