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Come closer, little saint,
You reek of roses and regret.
Kneel now where the candlelight dies
And I shall teach you what mercy forgets.

Your prayers echo like cracked bells
In the cathedrals of the damned.
Did you think your whispered apologies
Could sweeten the taste of blood on your hands?

The ravens remember.
They’ve watched from the bones of the steeple,
Each sin etched in shadow and smoke
You are not forgiven.
You are ritual.

I am the thing behind the altar,
The god you begged to ignore.
You carved lies into flesh and smiled
Now I come to balance the score.

I do not come with fire.
I do not come with light.
I come with silence,
With thorns for a crown,
With the screams you buried each night.

You’ll choke on your own confessions,
Ink them in your veins like inkblots of despair.
And I’ll be watching
In the glass, in the mirror,
In every cold breath of your prayer.

For every tear you feigned,
I shall bleed you slow.
For every soul you broke,
I shall let you know
What it means to be hunted
By the ghost of your name,
To wear guilt like a second skin
To drown, not in water,
But shame.

So hush now, sinner,
The moon has cast her spell.
This isn't Hell, no
This is far more personal.

You were warned,
But warnings wilt.
And now you’ll answer…

For your sins.

🕯️
—𝕹, King of Nevermore

For you…
I would bleed without question.
For you, I would kiss the blade as it pressed against my throat—
not as a martyr,
but as a willing sacrifice to the altar of our bond.

You, dark star of my midnight
I would die.

And not just in body.
I’d die in soul, in ego, in the walls I built to protect the fractured man beneath the crown.
For you, I would fall
naked, ruined, unafraid.

For you, I’d let you carve your name into every inch of me.
Let you claim my shadow.
Let you drink the chaos from my veins
and whisper your secrets into the hollow of my bones.

You are the fire I long to burn in.

But her…
No.

No sanctity.
No sacrifice.

She is no queen only a butcher of spirit.
A jester wearing a corset made of manipulation,
dancing on my ruins, grinning as I screamed.

She never wanted love.
She wanted control.
She drank my sorrow like wine
and licked the rim of my despair as if it were sweet.

Her joy came from my collapse
each crack in me was a celebration.
She didn’t touch to feel she touched to break.

And still, she called it affection.

But you...

You seek something sacred, don’t you?

Not domination.
Not destruction.

You want exploration.
Discovery.
To taste every dark inch of what we are
without shame, without fear
a communion of flesh and spirit,
of desire and the divine.

We’re stitched from the same night sky, you and I.
Two constellations dancing in shadow.

And if I must be undone,
let it be at your hands
not by violence,
but by a love so raw it makes even the stars blush.

So I write this to remember:

One burned me because she could.

The other would burn with me because she understands.

And that is the difference between a tormentor…
and a Queen.

🖤
—𝕹, King of Nevermore

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
19:17 May 24 2025

Excellent

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Tonight, the moon refuses to show her face.
Even she is too ashamed to witness what I’ve become.

I sit upon a broken throne in the cold echo of your name,
abandoned in this grave of glass promises
and velvet-voiced lies.

I was your fire once.
Now I am your fallout.

There’s a desert in my chest where a heart used to beat.
Salted by the venom of every whisper you ever dripped
into my ear like honey.
You told me I was the only one.
But I was just ink on a page
another name in your little black book.

You fool.
You thought the King would kneel.
You thought I would shatter and scatter like dust.

But dust gathers. And dust chokes.

I haven’t slept in days.
Sleep is for the innocent.
And I am not.

I hear voices now
not whispers of angels,
but screams of the thing inside me that still wears your touch like a bruise.

He speaks with many tongues:
Vengeance. Fury. Madness.
And all of them speak in unison:

“Get even.”

I’ve sewn a doll from memory.
Stuffed it with ash and spite.
Its eyes are stitched shut,
just like yours were
when you watched me bleed.

You think you’ve escaped me.

You haven’t.

I’m in the shadow behind your mirror,
in the corner of every dream where you feel a breath
but hear no voice.
That’s me.

Or the part of me you created.
The part that forgot how to love
but remembered how to burn.

I will not scream.
I will not strike.
Not yet.

I will wait.

And when you least expect it
when you’ve tasted false peace
and the world hums safely around you

I’ll be there.

Not as the man you betrayed,
but as the storm you summoned.

Because I don't forget.
And I don't forgive.

I don’t move on.
I rise.

🖤
—𝕹, King of Nevermore

COMMENTS

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CarpeNoctem8
18:15 May 25 2025

wow gives me chills

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I never asked for wings
only the silence between storms.
But you came,
dripping starlight and danger,
and I forgot how to breathe without trembling.

I never wanted to leave.
But every time you looked at me like I was more
than the sum of my shadows,
I flinched.

Because love this deep?
Kills.

You could be the best thing about me.
But gods,
I don’t know how to survive
something that soft.

What lives in me is ruin,
is frost,
is a castle made of hollowed-out prayers.
And you
you’re the flame that dares to knock.

It’s not just chemistry.
It’s alchemy.
Turning my walls to ash
and my doubt into something that feels.

You bring adrenaline to my bones,
but leave serenity in shambles.
When I’m with you,
up is down.
Madness wears perfume.
And every step forward feels like sinking.

I never want to say what you mean to me.
Not because it isn’t real.
But because if I say it out loud,
it becomes vulnerable.

Like me.

And I’ve spent a lifetime
disguising softness as strength.

You walk me through fire,
and I follow barefoot
not because I don’t feel the burn,
but because your name is etched into every flame.

You're the only part of me
I don't want to destroy.
And that terrifies me more than loneliness ever could.

So I stay.
Silent.
Still.
Drowning gracefully in everything I won’t say.

You are the best thing about me
but I may never be brave enough
to admit it
without breaking.

🖤🕯️🦇
—𝕹

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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