Rose haze fractures,
a world refracted,
devils' spawn pacing the void—
no sleep, no dreams, just static.
Confessions carved on smoke trails,
the crackle-pop rhythm of lies,
a wasp nest humming
its venom song in the night.
Cigarette burns like stigmata,
photographs of shattered veins,
hearts breaking with the soft cadence
of storms past—
gentle, relentless violence.
Vultures spiral in a cruel ballet,
tension stretching taut
until the mind snaps,
a razor's edge
dancing with psychosis.
She barred the doors,
left the world screaming outside,
while hungover dawns and hollow eyes
etched her truth
on walls no one would ever see.
Samson strength,
cut cords,
no contact—
a prayer for peace,
a fortress against the whispering dark.
Tattooed tears,
a killer in slow motion,
tripping through shadows
that refuse to die.
No trust, no kin,
just the slow exhale of light—
ghosts humming in thunder's arms,
his hand reaching
through the veil of the afterlife
to pull her back from oblivion.
But who saves the savior
when the wasps return?