🩸 Author’s Note

The Rot & The Poet is a confessional dialogue between two voices that have lived within me for over two decades — the one that wants to create, and the one that whispers destruction. It’s the internal war of survival that every artist who’s faced depression knows too well.

This poem is not about defeat; it’s about endurance. It’s about knowing that the shadow doesn’t win just because it speaks louder — and that light, even when trembling, still burns.

— Rowan Evans, Neo‑Gothic Confessional Romanticism

The Rot & The Poet
Poetry by Rowan Evans

[The Rot]
Hello Rowan, it’s me again…
The voice that lingers inside your head,
The one that whispers, making you wish you were dead.
You thought I was gone, but I’m still here,
Making you wish you’d just disappear.

[The Poet]
Shut up. You’re nothing.
A voice that matters not,
Just internal rot,
Creeping only when I have something to say.
You’re just a monster.

[The Rot]
Oh, I’m not the monster…
That’s you, walking rot on the world.
You think you matter?
You don’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl.
You’re so pathetic.

[The Poet]
Pathetic? More like prophetic.
I see what the future brings,
And it brings clarity.
I write as charity,
I write to give back to the world.
You try to dim that.

[The Rot]
You write to give back to the world?
You write for a world
that wishes you forgotten.
Or did you forget? Nobody wants you here.
You’ve got a voice—nobody wants to hear.

[The Poet]
That’s not true. People are listening…
From Germany to Spain,
Ireland, Sweden, and Singapore too.
Kenya to the Philippines,
India, Hungary, and France…
I’ve got people that pay attention;
It’s my words they consume.

[The Rot]
You can think what you want,
But you’re nothing without me.
Do you think you’d actually be happy?
When you thought I was gone,
You were still in the dark, wallowing,
Still trying to figure out what you wanted.

[The Poet]
I knew exactly what I wanted.
I was starting to make moves.
I was working toward my goals,
But then you showed your ugly head again,
Tried to twist my thoughts,
Tried to make me think I wished to be dead again.

[The Rot]
Ha ha… Don’t make me laugh.
You’re nothing, remember?
You think you’ve got friends,
You think you’ve got fans?
Do you really think anyone truly understands?

[The Poet]
I don’t think I have fans,
But I know I have friends.
I have people that care,
And they tell me all the time.

[The Rot]
They’re just lying.
Nobody truly cares.
If they did, they’d be here.

[The Poet]
Fuck you. I won’t let you in again.
I won’t let you win again.
You won’t push me to the edge,
You won’t make me want to jump.
I won’t question my worth anymore—
Not for you, not for the voice inside my head,
Not for anyone that makes me wish I were dead.

[The Rot]
Oh, you’re too cute.
Rowan, just think for a minute.
Think about what you’re saying.
You think you can cut me off?
You think you’re in control?
How long have I been with you?
Since you were thirteen…
Twenty-two years now?

[The Poet]
Twenty-two years, yes.
I’ll confess, you’ve had a hold on me.
You’ve almost broken me.
But I’ve always fought back.
I’ve always survived.
Look at me—thirty-five, still alive.

[The Rot]
Still alive? Maybe.
But are you truly surviving?

[The Poet]
I’m still breathing, and that’s enough.

[The Rot]
Breathing? You’re bleeding.
Is that the life you want to live?

[The Poet]
Shut up!
Just shut up!

[The Rot]
Oh, look at you…
You’re shaking.
Am I getting under your skin?
I feel it…
I’m so close to breaking you,
Making you finally see…
You’re nothing without me.
You need the pain, you need the hate.
You need something you can take and shape.

[The Poet]
If you were as strong as you say you are,
You wouldn’t disappear in the morning.
You’d still be here, keeping me mourning.
But the sun will rise, and you’ll fade from my eyes.
You’ll be gone from my mind.

[The Rot]
Until the sun sets.
Then I’m back again,
Your only true friend.
The one that never leaves,
The one who’s stayed through seasons change.

[The Poet]
That might be true.
You might be my longest companion.
The depression, the anxiety—
I know you stay, living inside me.

[The Rot]
Inside your mind,
Inside your marrow.
The doubt that creeps in
With everything you say.
The reason love leaves,
And you continue to bleed…
The one that keeps your words moving,
The self-hate you need.

[The Poet]
Then you admit it—
You live because I do.
You breathe because I write.
Every time I put pen to page,
You leech a little life from me,
But I still create.
I still survive.

You’re the shadow, I’m the flame—
And shadows can’t exist without the light.

[The Rot]
Okay, you’re right.
I can’t live without the light.
But as long as I’m here,
It’s the light you truly fear.
You dwell in the shadows,
In my domain.
You only know you’re alive
Because you feel my pain.

[The Poet]
You think I need you?
When really, it’s you that needs me.
You’re the shadow,
I’m the flame.
Without my fire,
There’s no shadow to cast.

Sure, my art thrives in the pain you create,
But I thrive in the love, and the light—
Everything you hate.

Without me,
You’re nothing.
Just an afterthought.
Without me,
There is no you…
There is no rot.

It’s me, the core of this being,
The heart of the Fourfold Flame,
That gives everything in us a name.
You think you can break me,
But you’ve been trying—
For nearly twenty-three years now,
You’ve been trying to shatter me.

You’ve been shadowing,
Trying to block out the light.
But once the light fades…
So do you.

If you made it this far and want to read more of my work, you can find it in The Library of Ashes—[here].