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I dance beneath the moon
with dead roses in my hands,
their petals curled like old secrets
the sun was never meant to know.
Silver light spills over my skin,
cool as truth, gentle as grief,
and the earth hums low beneath my feet
as if it remembers me.
These roses are not broken
they have simply finished blooming.
Their beauty lives in shadow now,
in scent and bone and memory.
I spin where endings gather,
where loss turns soft and sacred,
and the moon watches without judgment,
a witness to all that still survives.
Thorns brush my palms like promises:
pain teaches, decay transforms.
What has died has not abandoned me
it dances too, in quieter ways.
So I move with the night wind,
crowned in silver, rooted in dark,
a prayer made of wilted petals
and a heart that still knows how to glow.

She learned early
that smiles carry teeth.

The average folk
burn with brief suns inside them
warm, loud, hungry for reflection
they love what they can name,
and fear what watches from the dark.
So she learned to lower her eyes,
to pass as shadow,
to drink silence instead of promises.

Even other vampires
are no safer,
and blood remembers betrayals.
Fangs gleam brighter when kin grow bored,
when centuries rot into competition.
She has seen covens fracture
over thirst, over power, over love that soured.

So she trusts the moon instead.
It never lies.
It waxes, it wanes, it leaves
honest in its distance.

She lives alone
where the night listens
and does not interrupt.
Her walls are built of quiet,
her doors sealed with knowing.
Loneliness is not her curse
it is her armor.

For solitude does not stab the back,
and darkness keeps its oaths.

She survives
not because she trusts,
but because she remembers.

COMMENTS

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Fizbop
03:01 Jan 25 2026

love this

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Cadrewolf2
19:02 Jan 25 2026

Excellent

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Frozen roses bow beneath the sky,
Petals glassed in winter’s sigh,
Crimson hearts in crystal skin,
Beauty stilled, yet burning within.

Snow drifts down like whispered vows,
Hushing graves and moonlit boughs,
The world holds breath in silver white,
As eternity walks the night.
I am the one who loves this cold,
Where time is still and blood runs old,
Where frozen roses never decay,
And sorrow sleeps, preserved, not frayed.

Their thorns speak truths the living miss,
Pain made art, suspended bliss,
In frost I find a faithful friend
No wilt, no loss, no bitter end.
The snow adores me, pale and slow,
It knows my pulse, or lack thereof,
And crowns my feet with quiet grace
As I linger in this frozen place.

O frozen roses, just like me

Loved most when the world is ice and shade.

COMMENTS

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Fizbop
03:01 Jan 25 2026

Incredible

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I did not choose this power.
Grief clawed its way into me
and made a throne of my ribs.

I love dead flowers
because they understand loss
they do not ask why the frost came,
they do not beg the sun to undo itself.
They simply change
and become dangerous in their truth.

I bury my sorrow in the soil
and it grows teeth.
I water it with tears
and it learns my name.

Grief is not weakness
it is pressure.
It is devotion to what was loved
so fiercely it still burns
after the body is gone.

I grind dead petals with shaking hands,
mix bone-memory with breath,
and cast spells that crack the night open.
My magick howls.
My magick remembers.

The world thinks grief makes you small.
They are wrong.
Grief makes you vast
wide enough to hold death
and still stand.

I am a witch forged by absence.
My spells are written in ache,
my power born from the moment
everything sacred was taken
and I did not disappear.

The dead walk with me now
not as ghosts,
but as strength.
Every love I lost
stands behind me like an army.

I do not heal by forgetting.
I rise by remembering.
And my grief
my holy, brutal grief
is the source of my magick.

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
23:45 Jan 13 2026

you have a way with words

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I am the vampire witch of twilight hours,
Born where moonlight kisses old stone towers.
My breath is spell and shadowed vow,
I drink the dark, yet bless the now.
The night knows me by name and scar,
By ancient stars and bleeding tar.
I walk between the pulse and grave,
Both curse and crown, both wild and brave.
My veins hum spells in crimson thread,
Blood remembers what lips never said.
I sip the ache, the truth, the fear,
Transmuting pain to power clear.
Candles bow when I pass by,
Flames lean close, the spirits sigh.
Herbs whisper secrets to my hands,
Ash and bone obey my commands.
I am hunger with a holy flame,
A sacred thirst none dare to name.
I do not prey I balance fate,
I drain what rots so souls can wake.
Moon-taught magic, fang-born lore,
I am the key and the sealed door.
Feeding only on what is dead,
I leave rose-light where I have fed.
Immortal wound, eternal sight,
I guard the veil, I rule the night.
Not damned, not saved awake, aware,
A vampire witch breathing prayer.
And when the dawn thinks it has won,
I fade to mist, not gone become.
For darkness knows I am its truth
Ancient power. Endless youth.

I am candle flame and shadowed breath,
Spell and hunger intertwined.
Born where moonlight kisses bone,
I walk the edge of worlds unseen.

I stir the stars with whispered names,
Draw circles made of ash and will.
Herbs remember my hands intent,
The air bends softly when I speak.

But night knows me as kin as well
Fangs of longing, crimson truth.
Time moves slower in my veins,
Eternity hums beneath my skin.

I drink the dark, I bless the dawn,
I curse no soul that crosses me.
My power is not cruel nor kind
It simply is, as I must be.

The dead do not frighten me,
Nor gods, nor silence, nor flame.
I am altar, chalice, blade,
Both the question and the name.

Witch by vow and vampire by fate,
I rise when others sleep and dream.
A living spell, a timeless thirst,
Bound to night, yet wildly free.

I was not bitten into becoming,
no scream, no moonlit mistake
I was born with night in my lungs,
cradled by shadows before I knew light.
Milk never warmed me,
only the pulse beneath skin,
a rhythm the world calls monstrous
but my body calls home.
They say monsters are made,
but I was delivered like this
eyes too sharp, hunger too old,
a legacy written in my veins.
I learned early to stand apart,
to count heartbeats instead of friends,
to smile without showing teeth,
to love from a careful distance.
The sun does not hate me,
but it never forgives.
Neither do people
when they sense what I am.
I walk among them, an echo,
alive but never allowed to belong.
Their fear makes a mirror of me
I see myself the way they do.
Still, I did not ask for this,
or for this exile.
Yet here I am born of darkness, learning tenderness anyway.
If I am a monster,
then I am a gentle one,
aching not for blood,
but for a place where I don’t have to hide.

COMMENTS

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dracken
14:02 Jan 10 2026

The Outsider is familiar with my own experiences

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I learned to breathe where daylight dies,
In velvet halls of whispered night,
Where moonlight crowns my pale disguise
And silence teaches me to bite.
I walk where shadows fold like silk
Along the spine of broken stone,
My veins remember ancient milk
The pulse of hearts I’ve never known.
The sun is cruel, a gilded lie,
It bares too much, it asks for truth;
I choose the dark where secrets lie
And time preserves eternal youth.
In mirrors I am half a sigh,
A myth the living fear to name,
I drink the hours drifting by
And leave no ashes, only flame.
Do not mourn me. I am free
In corridors the dawn won’t claim.
I rule the dark that lives in me,
A lady bound to night by name!

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
03:33 Jan 08 2026

excellent

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He came where roads forget their end,
Where alpine winds refuse to bend,
And built a life of borrowed breath
Between the trees that know of death.

He learned the language of the snow,
How slow a hidden heart can go.
The sun would pass, he’d turn away,
Let shadows teach him how to stay.

No one there asked about his years,
Or why his eyes held older fears.
The forest keeps what’s never said,
It covers tracks the living tread.

At night he walks, but leaves no trace,
As if the dark had lent its face.
The pines stand guard, austere and tall,
They do not judge. They don’t recall.

And if a traveler feels a chill
Not born of wind or mountain hill,
They swear the trees themselves had moved
A man unproved, a truth unmoved.

COMMENTS

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dracken
13:09 Jan 07 2026

You should write more of these, very much like what the band Immortal sometimes use in their songs, but better.

I like this.

Has a winter chill to it.

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LadySilva
21:32 Jan 19 2026

Thank You

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