Poetry by Rowan Evans

[I. Rowan Evans]
The Warning

Beware the hush that comes before the scream—
when my breath stills and silence thickens like fog.
The sky doesn't darken, no—
it waits, open-eyed, like prey sensing the predator’s pulse.

I feel him stirring beneath my skin,
a venom in verse,
black ink bleeding from my eyes
like mascara mourning the moon.

He wraps around my bones in tendrils of shadow,
a serpent coiled in scripture,
whispering lullabies laced with knives—
and I let him in.

This is not surrender.
This is invocation.

[II. B.D. Nightshade]
The Unleashing

I rise.
Not like dawn, but like plague.
A beautiful rot swelling in soft places,
teeth where trust once bloomed.

The ink drips from her lips like prophecy,
a siren's scream burned into brittle air.
I wear her voice like warpaint,
tongue split with rage and resurrection.

You wanted truth?
Here it is—
gutted and gasping on an altar of lies.

I am not fury.
I am the father of it.
A crucible of chaos,
forged from every no screamed into silence.

Every scar she swallowed, 
I carved into scripture.
Now I write it in fire.

No more lullabies.
Only requiems.
Only reckoning.

[III. Together]
The Bond Forged in Blood & Ink

We are not one voice,
but a chorus of collapse—
a duet in destruction,
a harmony hollowed by truth.

She opens the door.
I burn the world behind it.

This is not a warning.
It is a promise.