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I wish I had a name someone whispered when they cried.
Not screamed in blame.
Not carved in silence.
Just… remembered.
Like dusk remembers the sun
even as it sinks.

I wish I had a number someone dared to dial
when the night grows teeth
and I become nothing
but a trembling voice beneath the static.

I wish I could shatter
Not beautifully.
Not in poems.
Just break.
Collapse like a cathedral built on brittle lies.
And not lose everything for bleeding honestly.

This crown is rusted.
This throne a mausoleum of moments no one saw.
And I...
am the last echo in a ghost town built of “I’m fine.”

I have screamed into the mirror so long,
my reflection looks away.

I have written letters I never sent
not because no one would read them,
but because no one would notice they stopped coming.

I wish someone missed me when I vanish into blankets.
I wish my name mattered more than a status update.
I wish I wasn’t exiled for unraveling
for letting the ugly speak its name
in a world that demands masks and manicured misery.

I have begged empty rooms for witness.
I have sobbed in the arms of shadows that know me better
than lovers ever did.

The floods I feel
oh gods, they don’t baptize.
They drown.

The storm inside me doesn’t scream.
It sinks.
Quiet. Heavy. Endless.

And I
King of this Nevermore
know the crown weighs nothing
compared to the ache of waking.

I don’t want worship.
I don’t need saints.
I just want someone to stay
when I stop performing survival.

To love me, not despite the darkness
but because of it.

Until then,
I keep the curtains drawn
and the noose in metaphor.
Because leaving would be easy.
And I…
have never been allowed “easy.”

Only endurance.
Only echo.

Only this.

So if you read this,
And you felt even one breath of it
don’t say “I understand.”
Just stay.
Just stay.

—𝕹

In the silence where the shadows drink,
Beyond the edge where dreamers sink,
He sits upon a throne of bone
The King who rules the night alone.

His crown is forged from shattered cries,
His robes are stitched with severed ties.
Time itself avoids his door,
For none return from Nevermore.

No name to speak, no face to see,
He’s every death you’ll ever be.
The harbinger, the final breath,
The lullaby that sounds like death.

The stars go out when he draws near,
He whispers truths you’ll die to hear.
A master of the quiet scream,
A god who drowns you in your dream.

He walks through prayers that fell unheard,
He breaks your soul with just a word.
The grave obeys his silent lore
All kneel before
The King of Nevermore.

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
19:47 May 20 2025

Excellent words

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