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This was written for me ... By a dear friend. So sadly beautiful. So sad I tried so hard to save him . So hard . But I lost .

Dear Vanessa, the sun beats hard and cruel,
The tent swelters like an oven, this heat no friend, no jewel.
I sit here with the bottle, burning clear and raw,
Staring at the shadows, waiting for the final door.

I am so very tired—deeper than sleep could ever mend,
Tired of trying, tired of breathing, tired of pretending.
My bones feel heavy, hollowed out by all I’ve done wrong,
Every step I ever took was just a stumbling, broken song.

I am so very alone here, though the woods hum loud with heat,
No voice calls my name, no gentle hand to meet.
The vodka blurs the edges but never kills the ache,
Just leaves me staring at the darkness, begging it to take.

Take this tired heart that beats for nothing, nothing true,
Take the shame I carry, the mess I made of me and you.
No one cares—I know it now; love was never mine to keep,
Just empty space where hope once lived, and endless, weeping sleep.

The summer air hangs thick and still, like holding back a breath,
I sip the fire, close my eyes, and taste the quiet death.
How I wish the darkness would wrap around me tight and deep,
Steal away the pain I feel, and let me sink, forever sleep.

It’s all my fault—every scar, every tear that ever fell,
I built my own cold prison, and I live inside its hell.
Forgive the trouble I caused you—don’t let my name weigh on your mind,
I was never worth the worry, never worth the time.

So here beneath the burning sky, with vodka as my only friend,
I wait for shadows to descend and bring my bitter end.
Tired… so tired… and utterly, endlessly alone—
Come, sweet darkness, take me home.

COMMENTS

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StormWatchers
20:13 May 28 2026

I am so sorry, Vanessa, for your pain. If I could help take that pain away, I would.

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xXWickedTemptationsXx
20:15 May 28 2026

Hugs thank you

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IICrimsonII
22:44 May 28 2026

Hugs

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POST COMMENT

For My Empathy”

Vanessa walks the halls
where the lost have grown,
their broken prayers
woven into her shadow.

She carries what they drop —
grief, fear, the shards of hope —
as if her hands were built
to hold what others abandon.

Do you bear the weight
of every fallen soul?
Do you carry crowns
that cut too deep to hold?

Yes.
And still you rise.

She bleeds for them,
but they will never know
how much of her light
she pours into their darkness.

Ancient vows
carved deep in her steady hands —
promises older than memory,
older than mercy —
bind her to a path
few could survive.

Yet she walks it,
through fire no one understands,
through storms that would break
lesser hearts,
through silence that echoes
with every soul she’s ever saved.

This is her burden.
This is her gift.
This is her power —
the empathy that costs her blood
but crowns her in truth.

their ignorance is so loud
it rattles the last nerve
I’ve been guarding like a relic.

They strut around
all confidence,
no comprehension —
all volume,
no wisdom —
and somehow think
I don’t notice the difference.

They poke,
they prod,
they preach nonsense
with the certainty of prophets
who’ve never read their own scripture.

And I breathe.
I count to ten.
I try to let it slide.

But gods help me —
there’s a limit
to how much foolishness
a soul can tolerate
before the patience snaps
like a frayed thread.

Still, I rise above it.
Not for them.
For me.
Because their noise
doesn’t get to rewrite my peace.

Let them chatter.
Let them posture.
Let them drown in their own echo.

I’m done letting ignorance
drag me down to its level.

You linger at the edges
like a shadow that forgot
it isn’t welcome.

You circle,
always watching,
always reaching,
as if my silence
were an invitation
instead of a boundary
you keep breaking.

You call it concern.
You call it care.
But I’ve seen the truth
behind your persistence —
a hunger for control,
a need to be noticed,
a fear of losing the power
you never should’ve had.

I am not yours.
I was never yours.
And your grip on my name
does not make it so.

You haunt the doorway
but you do not enter my life.
You knock,
you push,
you pry —
and still,
I rise beyond your reach.

Because I am done
being the story
you tell yourself
to feel important.

I am done
being the echo
you chase.

I walk forward,
and you stay behind —
a noise I no longer answer,
a shadow that cannot follow
where I am going.

Two faces is what you show me.
One all smiles — polished, practiced, harmless.
One all snarls — the truth you think I never see.

But I do.
I see the shift in your eyes,
the way your warmth flickers
like a candle about to gutter out.

I see the teeth behind the grin,
the shadow behind the charm,
the storm you try to tuck
just out of sight.

You forget
I’ve lived through weather like you before.
I know the scent of a brewing betrayal,
the tremor of a mask slipping,
the sound of a heart that lies
even while it beats.

Two faces.
Both yours.
Both real.
And I’m done pretending
I don’t notice.

I am tired
in the way a candle is tired —
still burning,
but lower than it looks.

My body aches
with the quiet heaviness
of carrying myself
through one more day
I didn’t have the strength for.

And my heart…
it’s a different kind of fatigue.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just worn thin
from holding too much
for too long.

It’s the kind of tired
that settles behind the ribs,
that makes even hope
feel like lifting something heavy.

But still,
I keep moving —
not because I’m strong,
not because I’m brave,
but because some small part of me
refuses to go dark.

A soft ember,
a stubborn spark,
a whisper that says:
Rest if you must,
but don’t disappear.

Tonight,
I let the world fall away.
I let myself breathe
without performing.
I let the tired be real
without apology.

And maybe tomorrow
I rise a little steadier.
Or maybe I don’t.
But I rise.

You hover at the edge of my reach,
close enough that your breath ghosts across my ribs,
far enough that my hands close on nothing but air.

You are the almost‑touch,
the nearly‑claimed,
the promise that never quite steps into the room.

I taste you like a memory I never lived,
sweet on the tongue,
sharp as the moment I remember you aren’t mine.

Still—
I keep you in that trembling space
where desire becomes a quiet bruise,
and longing curls itself around my spine
like a secret I refuse to release.

Near.
Out of reach.
Within reach.
Never mine.
And somehow…
still everything I feel.

COMMENTS

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Adain
18:11 May 15 2026

Beautiful.

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xXWickedTemptationsXx
20:27 May 15 2026

🙏 Thank you

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Adain
21:13 May 15 2026

A little kiss x for you

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POST COMMENT

Step into the circle
etched where light refuses to linger.
Let the shadows coil around your ankles
like old oaths remembering your name.

Call the darkness within you —
the one that watches,
the one that waits,
the one that knows the truth
you hide from gentler hours.

Stand at the brink.
Not to fall,
but to feel the pull of the abyss
and answer it with your own fire.

Whisper the vow:

I face the edge without fear.
I command the shadow that rises in me.
I return stronger than I arrived.

Let the air thicken.
Let the circle hum.
Let the ancient part of you
—the part forged in storms and defiance—
open its eyes.

This is the darker rite:
not crossing the edge,
but becoming the one who decides where it lies.

COMMENTS

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dracken
13:31 May 09 2026

Another realm right
Eye Eye

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xXWickedTemptationsXx
13:49 May 09 2026

Smiles

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POST COMMENT

The Snarl Beneath the Kiss

I could kiss you
with the same mouth
that curses your name.

I could pull you in
with the same hands
that tremble from holding back.

You ignite the part of me
that doesn’t know softness,
only heat,
only hunger,
only the sharp edge
between “come here”
and “don’t you dare.”

If desire is a battlefield,
then you are the wound
I keep reopening
just to feel something real.

Red Thread, Black Flame

There’s a thread between us,
pulled tight,
glowing red with everything
we never said out loud.

Some nights I want to follow it
back to your throat,
wrap my fingers around the pulse
that once beat for me.

Other nights I want to cut it clean
and watch the severed ends
curl like burning paper.

But the truth?
I crave the tension —
the way it bites,
the way it sings,
the way it reminds me
I’m still alive enough to want
and furious enough to resist.

The Hunger That Snarls Back

You touch a match inside me
every time I think I’m done with you.
Heat rises, sharp as a bitten lip,
sweet as a bruise I asked for.

I want you —
and I want to tear the wanting out.
Both truths burn in the same breath,
twisting like smoke around my ribs.

If you came to me now,
I wouldn’t know whether to
drag you closer
or shove you against the wall
and demand why you still live
under my skin.

Desire shouldn’t feel like a weapon,
but gods, you forged it well.

Before the Day Finds Me

Morning comes
not as a blaze,
but as a slow breath
unfolding in the ribs.

I sit with myself
in the hush before motion,
feeling the weight
of everything I carried yesterday
and the faint shimmer
of what might be lighter today.

Some thoughts ache.
Some thoughts soften.
Some simply drift through
like birds that don’t stay long enough
to name.

But I am here —
still choosing,
still learning the balance
between holding on
and letting go,
between who I was
and who I’m becoming.

And in this quiet,
I remind myself:
I don’t have to be whole yet.
I only have to be willing
to rise.

The room goes still when they enter,
rage wrapped in elegance,
power laced tight like black silk
over a heart that refuses to bow.

Their voice is low thunder,
not loud —
just inevitable.
The kind of authority
that makes the air remember
who it belongs to.

Leather shadows cling to their steps,
each one a promise
that no one crosses them twice.
Lace whispers at their wrists,
soft only in appearance,
never in intent.

They do not ask for obedience.
They expect it.
Not through fear,
but through the gravity
of someone who has survived fire
and learned to command it.

Their rage is not wild.
It is sculpted.
A blade honed on betrayal,
polished by restraint,
wielded with precision
against anything that dares
to underestimate them.

And when they lift their chin,
the storm itself pauses —
not out of terror,
but respect.

Because some souls
are not meant to be soothed.
They are meant to be followed.

“The Vow of the Forbidden”

I loved you before the fall,
before wings burned and halos cracked.
Now I kneel in the ashes,
still reaching for what I may never touch.

You are the light I cannot bear,
the dream that wounds me awake.
I worship your silence,
your shadow,
your name that drips like honey and fire.

Near enough to feel your breath
ghost across my ruin,
far enough that the gods stay cruel.

I am bound —
to adore, to ache, to remember.
Forevermore, I linger in your orbit,
a star that cannot die,
a demon that cannot forget.

Haunted.
Dreaming.
Yours —
though never yours to hold.

COMMENTS

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Doru
16:28 May 04 2026

Such desire...

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xXWickedTemptationsXx
17:41 May 18 2026

Thank you 🙏

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POST COMMENT

Where the Fire Has No Door

It burns in me,
this dark‑red wanting,
a hunger with no name
and no place to rest.

It coils behind my ribs,
a storm that never breaks,
a spark that never finds
the tinder it was promised.

I carry it quietly —
this ache, this heat,
this shadow‑kissed desire
that claws for release.

But the night gives no answer.
The world gives no opening.
So it smolders,
slow and merciless,
a flame trapped in its own cage.

And I walk with it,
breathing embers,
pretending I am not burning
from the inside out.