I will die for you, with a smile on my face
To protect you with all of my life and soul
To bleed and bruise, unyielding and stubborn
A fantasy every man yearned to do for his lover

But the murderer stabbed my heart, my love
Twisted it with the dagger I happily gave them
My most beautiful killer with the pained face
A nightmare every man feared about their lover

Broken crayons still color,
She'd say, "I'd be ****** if I forget,
And let the water wash my spark away."

Jumped where the tides barely speak,
She'd say, "I'd be ****** if I left,
And deaf to the calling waves I keep."

Heavier heartbeats marked the tide,
She'd say, "I'd be ****** if it didn't,
And erase the memories I couldn't hide."

Stones in her thoughts sank the soul,
She'd say, "I'd be ****** if that's true,
And sinking in the shallow end? That ain't what I do."

Dragged into the darker tide,
She'd say, "I'd be ******, but this hurts,
And I'll drown happily with my heart, embracing the burn."

Broken crayons still color,
She'd say, "I'd be ****** but it's true,
I ain't wax, mama!
I'm shattered glass, betrayed, in my break."

Oh, how much easier it is to drown,
To be scattered between winds and storms,
To be mere fragments in a raging ocean,
Than to have my path rewritten in the moment of a lover’s betrayal,
My loyalty slaughtered by disappointment.
Is this my true love?
My heart still recites poems in your shadow,
Still finds solace in your kindness—
Which of your pulses flows in my veins?
Your pain festers like a bitter betrayal,
Leaving its scars deep within me.
Have you forgotten you were once the glowing light of my heart?
Or did you simply ignore the flame of my love,
A fire that words fail to describe?
A love that, when it meets the salty sea,
Turns its ripples sweet.
O ungrateful one, I thought you were my healer,
My full moon in the darkness, my shield in war—
Yet you betrayed me with the malice of passion,
And carried the remnants of my loyalty in your hollow heart.
Go—
For you have shattered my heart.
Go—
And let my sorrow be your only memory of me.
I retreat into silence,
Writing my own elegy, my own epic.
Oh night, come to me,
For I have nothing but your solace.
If the moon shone for me,
I would not need its light.
Oh night, tell me, was he faithful to you?
The answer came: No—he betrayed you too.
You, my heart—do not tremble.
Tell me truly, did you ever love him?
Do you still beat with the warmth of his love?
If so, then you are not my heart—
You belong to him!
How can you, my heart,
Accept the wound of betrayal without protest?
He veils his ingratitude behind a shield of tears.
He plunged a dagger between my ribs
And then the wound deepened—
Blood flowed.
He pulled me from the heights
And cast me to the ground.
He stole my wakefulness
Yet gave me no peace in return.
A foolish fate trampled me under its weight.
My tears softened his eyelids,
Yet his lips never lost their smile.
Do I see the awakening of death,
Or merely the slumber of life?
Where is my despair?
It has passed—
As has my desire.
My existence is neither darkness nor light.
Everything that once was, is no longer—
And I am no longer me.
In the shade, I burn with the fire of the sun,
And my conscience pulls me toward a passion devoid of conscience.
And to where?
Do not ask, for I do not know my fate.
He destroyed me because I once loved him.
And even now, his love pulses within you.
You are not my heart—
You are his!

You look better when I close my eyes.
Because I’m a horrible person
a horrible person who still thinks of her when I’m with you.
Yet again, when I’m with her, who I was gets lost.
because honestly, I was broken
—She broke me—
I am broken, but you’ve seen me as whole.

We eat, we sleep, and we pray.
But who do we pray to?
Is it the ones who promise us salvation
but only give us disease, darkness, and blood?
Or promises of hope, love, and flair?

We starve, we wake, and we sacrifice.
But who do we sacrifice for?
For the ones who only take, take, and take,
and give not even a dime in return?
But only death, darkness, and blood.

I look at the heavens and see light,
but not lights of hope or redemption,
only lights made to blind us and bind us—
to show us we are unworthy of them, of the divine,
to make us feel like envying them is a crime.

I search wide and far for a story without any bar,
a story where they were selfless and not so afar,
a story to help us dream and reach the sky—
not act as silent observers of the moonless sky.
But all I hear are hopeless cries of mine.

Who are they to decide what we are, what I am?
Who are they to decide my fate and worth?
Who even are they, when they haven't felt the pain of existence?
only seen the suffering from their lofty thrones afar?
All I see is cruelty and worthless promises, hearts as black as tar.

They favor asking's shade...?
In metaphor, in gaiety; a tongue of many
Has sat, in a question to fade
Into a pallid existence, with truth, any

A kiss on a blind neck...
My name is plain and introspect?
Shun the court of luck
When spare is fare, only sin reflect's...

Shame to dance:
With a beguiled promise...
Defend a savior, for my blindness
With the climb to fruition, a seasoning of vice?

Courage in temptation's way...
Sour notice of a justice, as a chide...
Consequence keeps altruism, like the back of my hand...
When became toward, is life it's own, snide...

The wages of where
Hair is a persuasion's all, an eye
In coolly collected sake, a charity
Has come of age, with a rainbow for order's of another, silence...

He holds your hand but not your heart.
He whispers dreams but stands apart.
He wants your light, your steady flame.
But flinches at the thought of your name.

He tastes the feast, but pays no price.
He basks in warmth but fears the ice.
He builds a house of maybe, might—
But never dares to make it right.

You are not a halfway home.
Not a bench while he still roams.
You are not a season’s fling.
You are the whole, eternal spring.

So let him drift, let cowards flee,
You’re not a choice —you’re destiny.
No more auditions for your soul:
You’re made for love that's fierce and whole.

Hilfamous✍🏻

I tended a garden once,
behind walls too low,
in a pasture too wide.

The vines reached for strangers
with reckless kindness,
begging to be named beautiful.

You came with smoke clinging to your sleeves,
promises falling from your mouth,
and I, fool that I was,
welcomed you.

With greedy hands, you plucked petals,
stepped on seeds meant for tomorrow,
your breath embers against my harvest.

The skies darkened.
The rivers boiled.
The orchard withered from root to leaf.

And there I stood,
ash stuck to my skin,
silence heavier than stone.

I stayed to bury what you left behind:
The wilted vines,
the broken promises,
the ruined songs.

From the shattered soil,
I built a citadel from broken things.
It stands, heavy and hollow,
Strong enough for silence to live inside.

I am no longer waiting
for careless hands to stumble upon me.
I do not open gates for ghosts.
I hope their hands break before they knock.