You write, you dream, you paint her face,
But words won’t earn a lover’s grace.

What a pitiful way —
It isn’t your day.
More and more,
You wait,
For the one tied to your fate.
Then comes your hate,
For the ones where you made mistakes.
Mistakes of your life,
Mistakes for your life.

Yes, you were kind,
In her heart, in her mind.
Alike or not, the faces were nine:
One with a knife,
Two were blind,
One struck three times with the knife.
Two were on site,
Three — undercover police,
Four unknown, dressed in white,
Two recorded the tale of that night.

This is your poem’s rhyme —
Yeah, you didn’t pay much mind.

Evil passes,
But not without repercussions.
They think they are the trap builders—
But once the woods
Begin to offer small feasts for free,
It’s to devour and erase
The ***** spirit of this world.
I belong to the woods,
To the seas,
To the thunders and the trees.
You never won the game—
You lost your security.
You think you escaped,
But you’ve entered terror.
Welcome to the game, demon.

I’m not a fool for counting the days.

I’m not a fool for missing you,
or bleeding quietly in your absence.

I’m not foolish for keeping my distance from people,
for building walls instead of bridges,

For learning not to trust.

No—

I’m simply terrified...

Because I’m still in love with you.
Still crying for you.
Still believing nothing can erase this pain.
My longing for you has become a monster.

But I don’t fear monsters—

I command them.

I bind them in chains,
silence their screams.
But this one…

This one won’t kneel.

I can’t sentence it to death for its rebellion.

Can’t starve it,
can’t silence it.

Because every time I look into its eyes—

I see yours.

And I weep.
You are my weak spot.

My undoing.
I’m not a fool…

But I love you.