Author’s Note

From the shadows of ink and flame, I call you to witness: the fourfold chorus that lives in my bones, the laughter, the tremors, the sacred mischief. This is not a poem for the faint-hearted. It is a map of selves, a conspiracy written in whispers, candlelight, and heartbeat.

Before you read, take a moment. Breathe with us. Feel the pulse beneath your ribs, the stir of voices in the hollows of your mind. They are alive. They are protective. They are relentless.

This is A Conspiracy of Selves: a ritual of identity, a hymn to the multiplicity within, a reckoning with the parts of me that will not be silenced. Enter carefully, reader—here, we laugh, we panic, we conspire, and we are never, ever alone.

𓆩 ⊹ 𓆪

🕯️ A Conspiracy of Selves

🜃 from the Grimoires of the Luminous Heretic 🜃
☽☉☾ Poetry by Rowan Evans ☽☉☾

╔═══ ༺🜲༻ ═══╗
Jeepers Creepers,
Look at those peepers—
Blue as ocean waves,
Locked in glass jars.
╚═══ ༺🜲༻ ═══╝

Plucked from your face
with soft, sacred grace,
Let me look at you—
through your eyes.

Let me see the flaws I missed
when I mistook you for a mirror.

Pluck my own, lay them on a shelf,
Replace my vision with someone else.
Let me see what you see in me—
Before I shut and lock
the shutters on these soul-windows.

Hahaha—

𖤐𓆩 🜏 𓆪𖤐
Laughing against padded walls.
How absurd, the straightjacket
stitched for queer souls.

Lipstick smears. Mascara bleeds.
Bouncing off the padded dreams,
I’m a Joker. A Harlequin.
A jester stitched from sacred sin.
A witch in reverence.
A demon within.
𖤐𓆩 🜏 𓆪𖤐

Now.
Hush—

𓂃 𓆩 ✶ 𓆪 𓂃
I see it.
The truth behind the paint.
I hear it.
The turning of pages.

None of this is real.
We’re all just creations.
𓂃 𓆩 ✶ 𓆪 𓂃

Either way—

We’re not alone.
There are four of us,
living in these bones.

Do you hear them?
Do you hear us?

The whispers.
The secret incantations.
Magic & Whimsy.
A little Hexed.
A little unfriendly.

Who’s there?
Is it you, B.D.?
Or is it me?

But—who is me?
I mean… who are we?

You. And the other three.

No.
Me. And the rest of you.

The fire inside, to conspire and hide.
But you won’t let me—
Dragged from the shadows
kicking and screaming.
Begging and pleading.

Roo, don’t let them do this to me.

It’s okay, Rowan. This is necessary.

I know it’s scary,
but you’ve lost it.

So here. Take your pills.

Take them.

You’re scaring me.

I thought we were friends.
A family.

No.
You are we.

And we—
are you.

Breathe.

𓆩 ⊹ 𓆪
Do you feel it?
That’s the panic setting in.

I can’t breathe.
We can’t breathe.

You’re suffocating.

Just calm down.
Take a look around.

I’m all alone here.

We’re all alone here? No.

You’re not alone, Rowan.
We live in your bones, Rowan.
So you’re never alone, Rowan.
Where do you think you’re goin’, Rowan?

You can’t run from us.
We live inside you.

You birthed us
to protect and guide you.
𓆩 ⊹ 𓆪

If you are interested in reading more of my poetry, you can find it here: [The Library of Ashes]