NocturnalHues

to love other souls more than my own.

cursed in the knowing

that i will never be held by that love,

only the maker of it.

cursed into my bones,

aching with the weight of loneliness,

a body built for giving,

left hollow when the giving is done.

my hollow, lined with scars

and burning embers.

someone was once here,

thriving in the dark.

but something has changed,

the hollow now aches with silence,

the trees no longer whispering,

their stories gone still.

cursed, still,

to carry this silence,

to love into emptiness,

to remain the hollow.

your words reach me now

like sunlight through glass—

warm, but distant,

a glow i don’t quite trust.

i think of the girl i was,

pressed small into corners,

told she was too loud,

too heavy to hold.

she would have starved for this warmth,

yet the air around her was thin.

now you call to me from miles away,

missing what you once pushed aside.

and i keep you at a distance,

not out of spite,

but because the walls you built

still echo inside me.

shred me and claw away at the cells

grind my bones so i may soar the winds

may my blood be the water that nurtures the flower

if i am to be torn apart

let it at least give wings to my spirit

dancing with the fireflies

thorns embracing thorns.

i’ll be there to shade you

on even the sunniest days—

you’ll be there to steady me

up the stone-laced castle walls,

adorned with the love we protect,

the love we’ve both earned,

the love we both deserve.

sprinkle my dreams with the essence,

so i may dream of the one thing

i refuse to let myself feel.

let the illusion be real,

just for a night.

when her parents found out,

they decided to reprimand her—

punish her

for being in pain.

it’s funny

how crystal clear our paths become

after something like that.

she feels so much,

but lets out so little.

and i still punish myself

for the weight of feeling.

a shudder at the idea of comfort—

like a little girl

locked in her bedroom.

messages i can’t open

a small wound i won’t clean

task after task

rituals of pretending

chore after chore

penance for sins i can’t name

staying busy, staying alive

as if movement wards off the rot

but there was a time.

crash and destroy everything within

shatter the picture frames

demolish the walls

level the place i call home

bury me beneath the wreckage

destroy me with the foundation

when the night whispers your name

who do you wish to be hiding in the dark? the wind caressing your skin

and you shiver

the uncertainty of the dark

so comforting, so gentle

i don’t feel scared

i feel you

and i start to drown,

quick and aggressive,

painfully choking on every inhale.

oh, anchor,

how i relied on you.

but you didn’t keep me out of the water,

just surrounded by it.

occasional splashes,

waves crashing.

without you, anchor,

i float.

“all good things must come to an end”

but how do we know it’s good?

in the moment, it feels like a vice,

a string you hold onto for dear life.

how do we know it’s good?

must it end anyways?

all good things must end.

all things must end.

haunted by the idea of eternity—

trapped in a body,

not yet a corpse,

rotting.

fuel for a garden,

a perfect place to rot.

woven into roots,

forgotten beneath the dirt.

is my purpose to feed the earth?

am i to die slow

and call it meaning?

rotting,

until there is something to find.