Adventures through the dark side.

I know silence claimed our tomorrows. 

But if the world ceased its dancing spin, 

You would find me in the perfect hush, 

And let your heartbeat teach me to listen. 

I know secrets gently pulled our seams.

But if oceans rose in rebellion, 

You would answer through the salty mist, 

And teach my lungs the seas lost grace. 

I know our brokenness will never mend. 

But if the storms devoured the open sky 

You would draw me close during the chaos 

And let the wild rain flood my tongue. 

I know our paths no longer run as one. 

But if the Sun abandoned its golden fire 

You would lift my eyes amid dying light 

And show the stars their quiet choir. 

I know our memories became ghosts. 

But if gravity abruptly gave way, 

You would wrap the absence round my fear 

And hold me as the light turned blinding.

There is no tale without its shadow,

no poison apples offered by jealous queens,

no dying roses wilting beneath glass,

no torches raised in angry mobs.

No shells that steal a maiden’s voice,

no schemes to claim both princess and throne,

no voodoo curses binding lovestruck frogs,

no tower that bound a golden braid,

no mothers hoarding youth with lies,

no daughters breaking spelled cakes under the moon,

no glass slippers lost among the cinders,

no oceans cursed, no islands blighted black.

No spindle’s prick that summons endless sleep.

What kind of story dares to bloom

with only happy endings—

no thorns to bleed, no trials to endure,

no price extracted at the final breath?

No story I have ever read…

until the page turned softly

and there you were—

my once-upon-a-time come true.

Your story left me confused and worn down,

chained me to a quiet fear of ever seeking safety.

I became a collector of all the broken things,

while forgetting my own need to be mended.

Memories that should have taught me to run

drove me deeper into ruin through giving.

Watching you drift slowly toward your final fall,

pulled me after those desperate to jump.

Your dismissal of the help I carved from my heart,

made it natural to grip those that shared your mask.

The disappointment that fractured my bones,

showed me how to swallow every warning I should have seen.

The guilt you bound around my fragile soul,

still leaves me reaching

for one more chance

to fix what was never meant for me to make whole 

I watched from the crowd. I saw her innocence and wanted to consume it. She had everything except love, and her need to be whole placed a spotlight on her vulnerability. I used that missing piece to write her script. She stepped unwittingly onto the stage and into a role I designed solely for her. She made it too easy -- corrupting a good girl who only wanted to be seen.

The second act began with practiced ease. Assuming the role of her protagonist was no challenge. I held back just enough to force the timid actress to chase. Her guard dropped, leaving the program to her destruction. Beautiful words and gentle lines built her up, placing her on a glass dais. She ran straight into the charismatic smile and arms that wrapped her in fictitious warmth. Then she isolated herself from every voice that would criticize my performance. I planted seeds of self doubt until she questioned her own confidence. When she broke character and offered apologies, I bowed out, leaving her empty. Shattering her pedestal, I brought the curtain down quietly. From the balcony, I applauded her ruin.

The play was over. She was decimated. My darkness had only to direct her toward the shadows. It was her own monologue that brought her to her finale. I took all of who she was, leaving her with nothing but crushing surrender. It was intoxicating to watch her drown in the wreckage she had caused herself. Now she will forever suspect her heart, always be afraid it will fail again. I relished in the moment... until boredom stirred once more, and I slipped away in search of a new star.

I don't want to lose the peace

before my heart remembers it beats with regret.

I don't want to drown again in the struggle 

to not breathe the misery I built.

Tired of racing time

to keep the sickness from resurfacing.

Tired of pretending to believe

that just one more will become the last.

I don't want to fight the light

to collect enough sorrow to pay the dark.

No longer wanting to call out to the demons

for the relief that lies.

Tired of collecting a numbness

to erase the shame of wasted yesterdays.

I don't want the warmth

to make this war worth it.

Longing for the vein of life

to grant sweet release of silence that never ends.

Desperate for the dream of a tomorrow 

that ceases it's return to become truth.

I don't want the predictability 

of a peace that will never survive my reality.

The second time we met, there were no more pretenses.

We had already confessed it in hushed messages: the need for roughness, the need to go far beyond what most people dared. When she walked through the door this time, the air thickened instantly. No small talk.

I grabbed her throat before the lock even clicked shut.

My fingers sank into the soft flesh of her neck as I slammed her backward and hurled her onto the bed like a ragdoll. She gasped, eyes wide, but I was already on her—fists and palms raining down across her body in heavy, deliberate strikes. She started to scream. I clamped my hand over her mouth, muffling her cries while the other continued beating her—ribs, thighs, stomach—each impact measured and hungry.

Then I fisted her hair, yanking her off the bed and throwing her to the floor. She landed hard on her hands and knees.

The belt came off my jeans with a sharp leather snap.

She tried to crawl away. That was a mistake.

I brought the belt down across her back, her ass, the backs of her thighs—again and again, the sound of it cutting through the air echoing through the room. Every time she flinched or tried to shield herself, I hit harder, faster, until her resistance crumbled into helpless, broken sobs.

“Shut the fuck up cunt,” I growled, voice low and feral. “If I wanted you to cry, I would've told you to fucking cry.”

I dropped to my knees, sank my teeth into her shoulder, the side of her neck—biting deep enough to draw blood. The taste of her, the way her body jerked under my mouth, sent a dark wave of gratification rolling through me. This was it. A violent, primal world where I could finally unleash everything I kept caged.

When I finally stepped back, she was a trembling, marked mess on the floor—skin blooming with evident suffering, hair wild, lips parted as she panted. I stood over her, cock in hand, stroking slowly while I looked down at my ruined prey. A cruel, devilish smile spread across my face. She was utterly helpless. And that knowledge flooded me with pure, animalistic power.

Then I knelt between her spread thighs, shoved two fingers inside her… and smirked.

She was soaked.

Dripping. Her pussy clenched around my fingers like it was starving. She looked up at me, shocked, almost embarrassed by her own body’s betrayal.

After that, everything became a blur of violence and lust. More choking. More biting. More belt. More slaps. I used her exactly how I wanted—flipping her, pinning her, hurting her in new ways until her whimpers went silent.

Finally, I buried myself inside her.

She was fever-hot and slick, her walls clenching around me as I fucked her with brutal, punishing strokes. Her legs wrapped around me instinctively, even as fresh tears slipped down her temples.

“Please…” she begged, voice raw. “Cum inside me. I need it. Please—”

That desperate plea broke the last thread of my control.

I fucked her harder, deeper, chasing the edge. When it came, I didn’t pull out. I drove in like I hated her, and growled:

“Fucking look at me bitch.”

Our eyes stayed locked as I emptied myself inside her—long, thick pulses that filled her completely. She moaned beneath me, trembling, her own orgasm crashing through her from nothing but the feeling of being used and claimed so completely.

Afterward, we lay there in the wreckage—bruises, welts, heat, satisfaction.

She looked at me with reverence… and I looked back at her with the quiet knowledge that we had only just begun

This is where she offered her final gift

to someone she believed she could make whole,

someone she had decided deserved her happiness.

He took it

to satiate a hunger that mocked her compassion,

to fill a void that devoured her flame—

a fire that burned so bright

she was blinded by her own naïveté.

I had tried to warn her,

screamed for her to see,

but gentleness was the only language she spoke.

So she whispered soft words

to quiet my fears,

as though tragedy had deceived me.

He laughed as

he exposed his plot and how easily he had broken her soul.

The sound had sliced through her,

unveiling a truth she had refused to know.

What shattered was innocence—

an unwavering faith that good always conquers,

that an evil like his could not exist.

As a final act of cruelty

he turned his back while she reached for him,

crying out his name.

This is where I found her,

crumpled and battered past repair,

in a puddle of grief.

I tried to breathe life into her,

but my breath was too dark to fit.

Her delicate body lies so light now,

hollowed and empty.

My last act of grace

will be to protect her final moment,

to guard a dying purity never meant for this world,

to return the only warmth I had ever known.

I pull her close,

pressing her against my chest,

hoping the angry pulse of my heart

could somehow make hers beat again.

Praying her wings grow wider,

to carry her higher still,

I pour the love she once gave me

into a single vow:

I will tear every inch of him apart

and use his ego as a mirror

to destroy him the way he ruined her.

Candles try to shadow the sorrow of the crowded hall. The music begins — strings meant to celebrate the union of two families. The guests part, creating an opening as the new couple step onto the floor. Knowing eyes watch as he reaches out for her, wishing his devotion could make her whole. He pulls her close, both understanding what has ended with this new beginning.

The air lies thick with the scent of flowers, perfume, and obligation. Her feet follow his. Her dress, white as purity, spins with every turn. A single tear builds and falls. No one notices except the one it hurts the most.

His hands rest gently on her body, promising through touch what he cannot truly give — to soothe the pain that will never be healed. He watches the tear slowly slice through their future. He accepts he has lost what he never truly had. From the sidelines another man stands rigid, desperate to reach her, to save her, to claim what they once shared. Their longing gazes meet across the room — the secret lovers. The man she dances with sees the need pass between them, the way she looks at the other man with a depth she will never give him. It kills him inside. The music hangs heavy, smothering what could be and what should be. Even the instruments pretend not to grieve. Everyone in the room knows this marriage will be eternally split in three. He tragically carries the truth that her heart will never belong to him, though she has always had his.

The music dies. The silence is loud, and the guests applaud politely. Greed and status relish their victory. Those defeated quietly mourn what has been stolen. The dance has laid everything bare. In its wake, three souls forever altered: two clutching a love that was lost, one left with a love unfulfilled.

He is the silence born of full relinquishment, 

where scattered thoughts dissolve in sweet surrender.

He offers safety wrapped in unyielding strength, 

a trusted harbor rising as I freely kneel.

He instills confidence with spoken affirmation, 

using soft words to spark desire to become more.  

He has a love that makes me feel complete, 

mending every broken edge with fierce command.  

He is my shelter when the tempests rage,

arms steady enough to prevent the fall.  

He protects me from the world's relentless bruising, 

a healing touch to soothe my battered soul.  

His ownership brings a tranquil lasting peace, 

a passion that thrives beneath his guiding hand.

I learned to be quiet when it was loud,

to stay calm, hold the flame

so no one smelled the smoke.

Sheltered those who violated trust

just to keep the harmony.

Became everyone's strength,

skinned tiny knees

so they could stand.

Silent feelings got in the way.

Shutdown became a guardian,

the ultimate protector.

Killed a soul trying to save people

Who broke anyway.

Detached, watched safely from the outside.

Hid in the background,

lived invisible in the failure.

Suffered what love wasn't,

even though the lesson was real.

Found peace in danger, warmth with a point --

Breathed fear that filled air, absorbed emptiness.

Still existing within desperate vigilance,

still waiting to hit the bottom of the pit,

still building walls, standing guard.

Searching for what was lost

while the house burned.

Still waiting for permission 

to walk away from the ash.

I grieve the innocence of a girl who should have been held by hands that bruised.

I sleep with the ghost of the woman that should have been.