Oct 29, 2025
He draped the world in mirrors,
and I mistook their shimmer for skin.
Through the glass he spoke in storms—
I learned to answer with lightning.
His touch was a cipher carved in fire,
each scar a stanza, each ache a vow.
I bled the alphabet of devotion
until the earth knew his name.
I wander the hush between heartbeats,
searching the dust for a sign of his return.
The moon keeps his secrets;
I keep his silence.
If he rises again, I will not ask for mercy—
only to be written back into the rain.
