If you've ever given in to temptation,  
Swayed with indulgence,  
Embraced the allure of the forbidden,  
Veered off the well-worn path,  
Or found yourself wandering through life's twists and turns,  
If life has, at times, cracked open your heart,  
Congratulations!  
You have truly delved into the depths of existence.  
To experience life so intimately is a rare gift.

Tending fruit of what we leave behind,
roots break walls we build.
Hope grows heavy,
then it falls—
like Jericho.

Once there was glory,
then the world swallowed it whole.
I am not cursed,
but every apple I’ve bitten
tastes of the core.

Where there is money,
there is love—
and the root of all evil,
sweet poison.

I watch the lives of others,
dreams they wear like fine garments.
We chase illusions,
so gladly,
so foolishly—
to end up full on nothing.

Trust me, and know me whole:
I’ve floated on white lines,
pretending innocence
with powdered breath.

Say goodbye too many times,
and I won’t answer the last one.
This is my sonnet—
the count of the fallen man.
All men have fallen.

And when the call reaches your heart,
what cost does love demand?
It speaks in voices tender, cruel—
the sound of devotion
from a wicked heart.

All men have fallen.
All men have fallen.

Tonight, the moon is dressed
in lavender shadows, and
rhinestone starlight.

A showgirl dancing on
a windowsill, she tempts
a dreamer to shed inhibitions.

There’s no yesterday
or tomorrow at midnight.
Luna’s wink through the curtain
is a kiss without regrets.

The only thing
you two have in common
is your sign:
Pisces.

And I’m the mermaid
who’s already chosen
which one to keep—
but still,
I wanted you both.

your love
plays guitar
but hides in a harmonica case

your lies
sweet to them
poison to me

if regret could ****
i would be gone
only my perfume
left in the wind

a ghost you chase
never knowing
we ended
before we began

Reflecting on that ambivalent experience,
from long ago,
I realized our encounter was neither a story
nor a moment deserving ink.
It was simply a dare
between the inhabitants of two distant islands.

Drawn by a dreamy summer breeze,
We ventured out against the waves,
to share a forbidden touch,
then quickly retreated to the safety of our shores,
returning to our prescribed paths,
to never give it another thought.

It was a mutually agreed-upon contract,
leaving no room for confusion,
formed even before the idea of,
crossing those waters tempted our hearts.
Like water under the bridge.

My ambitions made me devour you.
Blinded by pleasure, just to seek sweet relief from you.
You're the devil in this seduction.
You're devotion wrapped in silk.
You're not Eve, not Adam,
but the hiss beneath the tree
that I willingly bit.

How can I forget your scent?
It lingers like fog after a shower spent.
Will you take me to paradise,
or burn with me in the fiery pits?
Every time you're near, the tides in me arise.
Your touch feels like damnation.
Every time I feel you, I'm further away from salvation.

Blood has never tasted this good,
tears have never made me look so good.
Will you look at me as you sing my name?
Do you even hear me pleading as I try to be sane?
Are you the chaos who will unravel what's underneath?
Tell me all your secrets while I am beneath.

You taste like blasphemy,
taking away all the holiness in me.
Your hands continue to taint me.
The way you move has been taunting me.
Being with you feels sacrilegious.
Devotion has never felt this good when I'm not even religious.


- N.V. 🥀

Glass tears dance on the lawn of dreams –
offered sweetness at hand; while the Beast
breathes fire over frost; black fur coiled in winter’s
chill, his warmth a lie dressed in comfort.

He offers blindness as a blessing, the bliss
of the thoughtless path. In the silence of white
winter, you take his claw, mistaking it for a hand.
“To die for”—a morbid metaphor— what is the gift
of a Beast meant for?

Around him, the dancing lich spins— leeches
birthed  from tombs of need. A cliff that clefts;
as a cleft lip cannot speak the truth, it only bleeds.
Closed eyes cannot paint the dark—
but they stay loyal  to its canvas.

Left bereft—travelers avoid certain subjects:
being sick of yourself, tasting your own *****.
But hush now— we’ll skip the topic. Change the
subject. And bury that scent.

As she was sent; and of all the objects she takes
from the Beast—he cures grief with a sugar-coated sting.
But bittersweet is still a shade of sweet, it rots your teeth,
and maybe he works with the tooth fairy to collect what
decay leaves behind.

But in the cold, no one heals— they run to the hills,
as their heels are clicking in panic of snow-bitten ground.
Perhaps this time, Little Red took the wrong road—
and the wolf she met, has grown hungrier from
feasting quietly on empty bones.

      ....there's no-one to save her at all.