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When the Dragon Wakes

It sleeps deep beneath my ribs,
coiled in the dark
like a storm with scales.
For a long time it was quiet —
not peaceful,
just dormant,
breathing slow,
waiting.

But something crossed the threshold.
A footstep where none belonged.
A whisper that wasn’t invited.
A hand reaching too far
into the chambers of my mind.

And the dragon opened its eye.

Not fully —
just enough for the world to tremble.
Just enough for the air to thicken
with heat and warning.

The rush hits me like fire
forced through a narrow space,
a violent bloom of power
that isn’t clean
or kind
or controlled.

It’s the kind of awakening
that shakes dust from ancient bones,
that cracks the stone around the heart,
that makes the walls of the labyrinth
shudder in fear.

The dragon rises,
slow and terrible,
its wings scraping the dark,
its breath a low growl
that vibrates through my spine.

This is not a positive surge.
This is not enlightenment.
This is instinct,
anger,
protection,
memory,
all igniting at once
because something dared
to step where it shouldn’t.

And now the dragon is awake —
not raging,
not rampaging,
but watching,
smoke curling from its teeth,
waiting to see
if the trespasser
will make the mistake
of taking one more step

COMMENTS

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dracken
02:35 May 01 2026

firebomb::::::: AGGGRRR:::::::::::::: SMOKED

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Myrnda
02:39 May 01 2026

Lol

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