keen eyes, fever-bright in shadowed hallways
trace the tremble of a lover's breath
a tryst wrapped tight in velvet lies
soft silk around the scent of death
this face i wear is porcelain
kissed by time and powdered grace
a mask of calm, of quiet care
yet fissures bloom across its face
flakes fall like ash from burnt regret
old wounds stir beneath the gloss
where memory is sharp and wet
and every smile conceals a loss
behind the grin, the beast still sleeps
its ribcage hewn of brittle ache
the carnivore, with broken teeth
still dreams of all that it could take
dormant, yes, but never dead
its hunger is a steady thrum
it watches through the cracks i dread
and waits for weakness yet to come
it scents affection like spilled blood
the warmth of touch, the trust, the skin
and salivates, in shadows mute
at softness that it might begin
to rip, to claim, to hollow out
to chew through hearts like marrowed bone
and i, the host, can barely shout
above the growl thats not my own
so i pray not to god, but to the dark
that only one hand finds the reins
for if it seizes full control
ill drown beneath its fanged domain
my prey... my sweet, oblivious prey
you see the face, you kiss the lips
but you dont know how near you lay
to the thing with blood along its hips
and i, too tired to be your cage
too frayed to be your tethered wall
can only hope this love you wage
wont be the reason that you fall

they go down still
into the dark
where no light lives
but the spark of rage
faces smeared with the soot of belief
hands blistered
by clenching so long
to lies shaped like truths
sold cheap by masters
who never once bled
they mine hate
like coal
digging deeper
with every grudge
every slogan carved into the walls
like it's scripture
they call it pride
they call it country
they call it righteous
but it coats their lungs
it chokes the air from their days
until their words rasp and clank
with bitterness
that no water can cleanse
no light can reach
and still they swing
their pickaxes of blame
their spades of suspicion
into the very seams
that poison them
the dust hangs heavy
in the hollows of their chest
like fiery sermons
it settles in their veins
like silt in a still creek
they die slowly
but certainly
not for gold
not for bread
but for their blessed illusion
of having struck something
their master watches
from a tower of clean air
counting each cough
as profit
and the miners call him savior
and the deeper they go
the darker it gets
and still
they do not stop

they cried for barabbas
and barabbas they received
but his sword turned inward
and their cities wept in ash
they spit on the healer
and praised the destroyer
and found their dreams buried
beneath fallen temple stones
they called for justice
but mocked the just one
and justice came
not as they hoped, but as they deserved
they marched for peace
but crowned the violent
and so the earth groaned
and the heavens turned away

the past comes like tides to my shore,
soft with lies, hard with roar
a cycle of salt
of grief dressed as gold
whispering "there was goodness behind you"
but i remember
the tearing
the clinging
the ache that never lets go
i was the walls.
i was the fortress
i was one man trying to hold the line
and one man cannot hold the fort alone
so i bled
and i broke
and i ran
but if i flee how far will it follow
will the tides chase me to the highest mountain
remind me of everything i could not carry
everything i let drown
are these waves my own weeping
or is it yours too
your tears caught in the foam
your sorrow spilled into my storms
im sorry
i couldnt help you
i didnt even try
so i shut the gates
i sealed the doors
i hurt others, then myself
until i was nothing but stone and silence
a ruin gnawed thin by regret
is it enough
to want to mend
to whisper a name and mean it
to hold the wreckage and call it love
do i sink
do i disappear
is there even anything left
worth making right
or am i just the echo
of what should have been done
when it still mattered
a part of me died with you

i burned what was brightest in me
with hands that knew no tremble
lit the match not in madness
but with the precision of purpose
not fate, not some cruel unseen hand
no storm but the one I summoned
the wind was mine
the tide was mine.
and the wreckage, yes
God help me, was mine too
i made an altar of myself
and laid upon it every soft thing
hope, kindness, the fragile trust
that others dared to place in me
i watched them catch fire
with a satisfaction that sickens me still
i wasnt broken by life
i broke myself
just to see if i could
and when i shattered
i called it art
but the worst
the worst is not the ruin I became
but the sails i cut from others skies
the quiet lives i warped
to mirror my storm
they called it love
i made it suffering
now i walk these ashes,
years deep and soul-thin
unable to sweep them clean
unable to start again
who loves the one
who devours the light
who saves the one
who insists on drowning
i see it now
and seeing is a curse of its own
not too late to hurt
too late to undo

Have You forsaken me
or did I walk backward into the dark
pretending I didn't see the light behind me
I called You Lord
called You in the night
when the silence echoed so loud it sounded like judgment
Did I not cry out
Did I not beg You to see me
even as I turned my face away
Please do not remove Your Spirit from me
Not that last thread, not the final warmth
Let me carry the weight, yes
but let me carry it with You still near
Why do You say I am a worker of iniquity
I said Your name, I said it with trembling
I built altars in the ruins
I tore myself open to be filled with something clean
And still
You say, "I never knew you."
Then know me now
Not the mask, not the myth
but this bleeding thing that won't stop reaching
I am begging
Not for comfort, not for favor
just for nearness
Just for the mercy of being seen
and not cast out
If there is wrath for me, let it be honest
If there is silence, let it not be forever
But if there is still a whisper in You
let it come
Even now
Even to me
Forgive me
and my unfaithfulness

i remember when He walked beside me
not in thunder
but in the hush between my thoughts
a warmth beneath the ribs
a whisper in the stillness
i did not fear the silence then
but now
the silence is all i hear
not holy
not healing
only hollow
He is not far
i know this
He has not moved
i have
each today came with a voice
gentle
steady
calling me from the edge
and each time
i turned the volume up on my own will
until even His whisper
felt like wind through a broken window
this is not distance
this is disobedience
a thousand closed doors
with my name on the latch
a thousand chances
i have left to rot like manna hoarded overnight
He said if today you hear His voice
and i always had today
always
and still
i blocked my ears with pride
and clothed my heart in noise
now i sit in the wreckage of all my todays
and long for His nearness
but my hands
my hands built the walls
and i do not ask why He feels far
only
will He still speak
if i finally listen
He built me a home
with walls of mercy
and windows clear enough to catch the morning light
He placed peace in the corners
and truth beneath the floorboards
every stone set with patience
every beam carved from love
and i
i tracked in the mud of my own making
lit fires where rest was meant to be
hung idols where His name should dwell
spoke lies into the quiet rooms
until they echoed back as if they belonged
the home still stands
but it groans with sorrow
foundation split not by time
but by choice
my choice
He does not flee
but He does not feast where filth is served
and i have been a poor host
setting the table with bitterness
pouring cups full of self
i feel Him in the distance
not because He has gone
but because i have built walls
within walls
within walls
until even His knock feels faint
this disunity
is not a moment
but a rhythm ive kept
a hymn of rebellion
sung in the house He gave me
yet still
somewhere deep
beneath the ash
a corner of that home remembers Him
and trembles
and hopes
and waits