In twilight realms where masks adorn like stars,
The moon casts her glow most tenderly
Upon those who dance unadorned by pretense,
Their radiance deemed too bright for mortal eyes.
Your empathy—a garden of midnight blooms,
Protected by the trellis of sacred boundaries,
Not to wither beneath harsh judgment's sun,
But to preserve your light for worthy wanderers.

Those who carved rivers of sorrow in your soul
Yet deny the waters flowing from their hands
Cannot offer reconciliation's sweet nectar.
Peace resides not in their distant approval,
But sleeps beside you, faithful as moonlight,
A companion through your darkest hours.
The distance woven between pain and present
Is gossamer silk that must not be torn.

Breaking patterns is the dance of dawn,
The first light dissolving night's heavy chains,
Your silhouette fading like morning mist
From doorways where love never flourished.
In authenticity dwells your freedom's poetry—
No longer folding your boundless spirit
Into shapes too small to hold your vastness,
Standing unveiled in your own sacred truth.

Touch not the fragile wings of survivors in flight—
Their path traced through storms of betrayal,
The space they've claimed between wound and healing
Is hallowed ground won through countless tears.
Make peace with misunderstanding's shadow,
Release the weight of constant explanation,
For your truth blooms most beautifully
When nurtured in soil that welcomes its roots.

Strip me bare, not of clothes, but of pretense,
lay me open with the sacred blade of your truth.
Let your words graze my skin like teeth,
your questions sinking deep, leaving marks I’ll crave.

Slide into the spaces between my thoughts,
press against the heat of my unspoken desires.
Stroke the places I’ve hidden,
the ones that ache for the friction of your understanding.

Speak to me in the language of hunger and cosmos,
each syllable a kiss, each phrase a ******, a sacred chant.
Let your voice drip with the nectar of divinity,
until I am trembling, undone, begging for more.

Make love to my mind with no restraint,
ravage me with your curiosity,
consume me with the  primal fire of your spirit,
and leave me gasping, raw, and utterly yours.

We wander, frantic in the marketplace of promises,
hands clutching at the glittering vials of salvation.
“Here, this magic pill,” they say,
“will mend the cracks, seal the void,
and silence the ache that hums in your chest.”

We swallow hope, bitter and sweet,
but the emptiness echoes louder still,
a hollow drumbeat of yearning we cannot quiet.
The years slip through our fingers like sand,
each grain a moment spent chasing illusions.

We bow to the idols of quick fixes,
blindfolded by the shine of their certainty.
Yet, the pain whispers in the silence,
a persistent reminder of truths uncounted,
of shadows we refuse to face.
The hole in our hearts grows no smaller,
no elixir, no mantra, no fleeting promise can fill it.