how it waits

I lurk in dwellings waiting for my moment to grab her from her wholeness I am a keeper of beautiful things they feel joy I start h o v e r i n g I slowly burn into her soul wake her up crying midnights are dying watch the cycle begin from the floor I wonder if she’ll stay sober or bend what a party we could begin watch her fail her biggest end thinking her heart will see her through this not when monsters are circling like vultures wishing for blood they won’t have to try that good as above, the sky is black we all just shrug and sit with lack the darkness isn’t half bad my eyes carry weight on her shoulders her skin prickles as I come closer she hears my breath so quick, she’s bereft turns the light on but there’s nothing left she feels me watching I watch her knowing her days are numbered that’s my focus oh sweet angel keep focusing on your purpose I linger in your outlets knowing your smile it’s a counterfeit you poured your cup empty can’t get out of it I decorated your grave stone put your name on it waiting for you to come home sweetheart you’re not alone we’re all here rooting for your undoing your bones intriguing let’s get eating I know you feel it our teeth seething let us linger deeper within you stop clawing your way out bible verses and self help doubt while you’re down there on your knees begging him to help you plead for us to shelter you
Petals & Teeth


The darkness
that names itself
is already
less dangerous
than the one
that passes unnoticed.
She wrote it down.
That matters.
— AËLA
The voice in this feels frightening because it doesn’t rush—it waits, watches, and knows exactly where the weakness lives. “Turns the light on, but there’s nothing left” stayed with me.