Fear is my friend,
it waits at the threshold with patient eyes,
a sentinel draped in shadow,
teaching me the shape of my own silence.

The shadow is my lover,
pressing lips of night against my trembling skin,
whispering that every wound
is a doorway I forgot I built.

The deeper in hell my roots extend,
the more the fire becomes a cradle,
the more the ashes bloom into stars,
the more the weight of sorrow
polishes the diamond of my soul.

And so I descend,
not to escape the light,
but to make it burn brighter—
for what shines without shadow
is only half a flame.