Your voice, a lullaby
to my restless nights—
an embrace from
someone I’ve never known.

It lays down with me
here in my tomb,
awaiting ascension.
It knocks at the sepulchre
of my subconscious.

I yearn to know you.
Your rituals are devotions.
I long to learn from the gods.
Divinity has graced this sepulchre,
tapping the hard walls of this tomb.

Is this the voice of salvation,
or an echo of loss?
Am I ascending to heaven,
or are you descending with me to hell?

Your voice digs deep into my core,
down to my stone-cold being.
My flesh has rotted—
bled down to the marrow—
yet the feathers of your wings
have graced my lost soul.

In this sepulchre,
you knocked at my tomb.
You offered no redemption—
yet your presence is a confession.

A siren with feathers,
your presence lingers,
even without knowing you.

Your soul echoes within me.
Your songs, are sacred runes—
they cry and bleed,
like the river that flows through me.

Something ancient awakes,
knocking on these sepulchre walls.
It transcends heaven, hell, and earth—
an otherworldly communion,
carved out beyond mortal flesh.

Your voice lies beside me in this tomb.
A lingering presence,
keeping me grounded
as I await ascension.


- N.V. 🥀

shes all i think about
day and night --
twenty-four / seven.
she's always
on my mind.

interstate,
but im still calling.
she always answers late,
never in the mood.
and she wont wait --
not for me.
and not for anyone.

she's infecting my dreams,
shes rewriting my thoughts,
even changing my music
into sappy love songs
i swore i hated.

she's taken over
my life,
my breath,
my hours --
day and night,
twenty-four / seven.

funny,
how a person can turn into
a kind of silence --
like a voice
that never even left,
but stopped answering
all the calls
you swore
were mutal. 

you had called it
fading.
i called it
staying
in the smaller ways --
as in
the way i check
my phone
at dusk
like a ritual,
as if you'd just
appear.
because the sky
turns soft enough
for second
chances.

if missing someone
counts as calling --
i never really stopped
calling
for you.

i should be resting
the bustling cars changed to windy fields
i should be thriving
finally safe to take off the mask of secrecy

but why can i hear the injustice louder
the farther i go
why do i feel the call even stronger
when i just let go

is it not my dream to be free
the happy-go-lucky
yet it still feels like I’m pretending
the pain is alive somewhere, beating

6 a.m.
The alarm sounds.
Eyes open slowly,
Fighting the pull of sleep.

7:30 a.m.
Coffee in my mug,
I race out the door.
I’m late
Yet somehow,
There’s still time to think of you.

12 p.m.
The phone rings endlessly.
Paperwork piles up,
Fork in my salad,
The first bite pulls my mind to you.

3 p.m.
Meetings drag.
Click-clack of typing,
Emails constantly pinging
Until 5 p.m.
And my hands tingle,
Knowing it’s almost time.

6 p.m.
The pan sizzles.
The air fills with the scent of ground beef.
The door creaks open
My husband greets me.
The TV hums softly.
Bowls of pasta in our laps,
And still, I think of you.

9:30 p.m.
Water boils in the kettle.
A steaming mug finds his hands,
While mine search for you.

I open my laptop,
Eyes aching from the screen,
But I can take a little more—for you.

The mouse hovers over a small document.
Tea steams as the page loads.
I smile.
Hands rest on the keys,
And I begin to weave.

Did they call for you,
When you were low,
When you knew the dirt of ground?

No?
Then don't you dare answer in your house of gold,
They will only come to burn it down.

engine's really running now

feel the subtle movement of divine chaos inside
gentle, unpredictable, healing
open
in the protection of source love
release what no longer serves you
expand and
accept the gifts from spirit
your heart's calling