In brown eyes, a shadow lies,
A secret that the daylight hides.
Soft as dusk, yet sharp as flame,
Whispers of a nameless pain.

Pieces of shrapnel
It drifts on by,
Invisible to your naked eye.
It solicits no hand,
No beckon to the why.
It offers no reason,
No mark to signify.

Pieces of shrapnel
Just searching
for its place,
Scouring the wide eyes—
The hopeless,
The grace.
To know its name
Is to give it a face.

These pieces of shrapnel
Have found its place.

I was never chosen for belonging.
Not by the world, not by blood, not by any hand that ever touched me.
I walk among the living as an exile,
a phantom dressed in flesh,
a vessel meant only to pour itself empty
so others may drink and leave.

I am the altar and the offering.
I tear my own spine into kindling,
set myself ablaze just to keep their shadows warm.
I hand over my ruin as though it were holy bread,
because if love will not have me,
perhaps sacrifice will.

And pain;
pain has been my only covenant.
It baptized me.
It married me.
It crowns me each morning with thorns
and cradles me each night in its iron womb.
It is not a wound; it is my inheritance.
It is not a visitor; it is my god.

Yet still;
there is a howl in me.
A storm that wants to rip heaven in half.
I want to pound my fists against the firmament
until the stars rain down like glass.
I want the earth to feel the shudder of my grief,
to know that I am here,
bleeding, burning, begging..
and no one sees me.

But I know the sentence.
They will spit their verdicts like venom.
“Attention seeker.”
“Coward.”
“Spectacle.”
They will say despair is a theater,
agony a mask,
death a performance.

So I swallow the scream.
I choke on silence until it poisons me.
And I rot.
I rot in daylight,
smiling with dead teeth,
while my insides collapse like a  set on fire.

Tell me—
when does it end?
When does this body, this prison,
finally crack open?
When will my lungs sigh their last,
my skull quiet itself,
my eyes close not in weariness
but in deliverance?

I curse the sleepers in their graves.
I envy their soil, their silence, their eternal stillness.
I despise their peace even as I crave it.
Why should they rest while I remain chained,
dragging myself through the days like carrion?

I am tired.
Tired of this cursed breath,
this endless theater of pain.
I have known nothing but wounds,
and I desire nothing but the abyss.

If there is a god,
let him hear me.
If there is a hell,
let it open now.
If there is mercy in this universe,
let it be the mercy of oblivion.

Because I am finished.
And all I have ever loved,
all I have ever trusted,
all I have ever worshiped—
is pain.

Show me where the blade
dug so deep it left a scar.
I felt your pain long before
I ever heard your voice.
I was dancing to the symphony
of your broken heart—
its wreckage left me breathless.

Did you feel it too?
That you were too much,
and never enough?
The urge to tear off your own wings,
sink into the abyss,
consume your flesh,
devour desire,
and walk into fire?

You sing like someone
with gasoline in their veins,
blood set alight,
pleas turned to smoke
as desperation claws your skin.

Are you like me?
Waiting for a hand in the dark,
longing to be understood?
Your pain bleeds through every note,
yet when you open your mouth
no sound comes out right.
Have you ever wondered
if heaven hears your prayers?

Who made you cry like that?
Who broke you open like that?
Are you yearning for a savior,
or waiting to earn salvation?

I felt your soul
long before your voice reached me—
crawling, begging.
Do you want to share your pain with me,
or sit with mine?
Let me touch it,
cradle it close to my chest.

I won’t mend your heart,
I won’t stitch your wounds—
but I will hear you.
I always have,
even before I understood.
The weight of your words
presses down on my chest
like a loaded gun,
cold against my skin.

Show me where the blade
dug so deep it left a scar.
Will our paths ever cross?
Let me hold your sorrow.
Rest here until it no longer hurts.
Sing to me until fate collides with mercy—
let me embrace your pain away.


- N.V. 🥀

I want to say thank you.
If you didn’t leave me, I wouldn’t be here now.
But I don't know if I can mean it.
Some said you did your best, but did you really?
You could’ve stopped the drugs, gone to rehab
But did you? No you did not.
I try not to be angry with you, but you made it difficult
I know you say you changed, but you’ve said that before.
I can’t help but be angry
You left me and I thought I forgave you, but maybe I truly can't.
I do love you but i dont know if I can call you my father…
Chris has been more of a dad to me in these 4 years than you were for most of my life.
I know, we had good years, but we had more bad.
You were my best friend, but I wasn’t yours.
I know you loved me but you had a horrible way of showing it.
You made me feel undervalued and unappreciated.
Even when you get out, I might have to say bye for a while.
I thought I could see you again, but I’ve worked so hard for myself.
Seeing you will make me go backwards again.
It’ll bring back all the memories
I know the effect it’ll have on me
The effect it will have on those around me.
If I see you again, I’ll start being angry at home.
I can't explain it but I know it’ll happen.
I might get depressed, and I can’t afford to do that again.
Every time you left me, it got easier to say goodbye.
I couldn’t physically cry after a while.
I was left to comfort your ex while she balled her eyes out and used your drugs.
I wish I could forgive you
I wish I could thank you,
But I can’t mean it.

This heart to love — abrupt,
a door slammed open in the storm.

No warning, no gentle knock,
just the rush of something that's
too vast to hold.

And this face, a gallery of what remains:
a canvas carved by wounds, a battlefield’s
aftermath; a work of art painted by scars —
proof that breaking is its own design.

In a frigorific and caliginous dungeon,
You ensconce me along with the dust.
Our flesh is so terribly pungent,
With the scents of a violent lust.

Two vile and barbarous lovers,
Indulging in our brutal embrace.
Teeth stained with vermillion colors,
As a baneful grin adorns your face.

You pounce upon me like your prey,
As I helplessly lie in pure rapture.
Mauling and kicking away,
You have me blissfully captured.

I am entombed in your grip,
As vermin between beastly jaws,
Leaving my heavenly ichor to drip.
Soon to be torn by bellicose claws.

Quaff the crimson from my veins,
Suckle at the jugular nectar,
For I shall bide in these chains
As a bloodless and pallid white specter.