The Library of Ashes
Here, every poem is a smoldering page — whispered confessions, soft ruins, and sacred rage. Wander newest to oldest.
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Tightrope Reverie
There is a war raging in my mind—a battlefield split by a single strand.Two voices clash, one spitting venom,“Fuck love,” it sneers,while the other, trembling, begs,“Hold on to hope.” Which is the truth?Which is the lie?Which one will guard me,and which one will let me die? It’s a fine line — a tightrope —threaded over
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The Repairer’s Last Breath
I’m done, fuck love—I’ve slammed that door,closed the gates on every hope I once heldlike soft promises in trembling hands.I’ve bent, I’ve broken,I’ve played the part of the fixer,only to find the cracks in meare too deep to mend. I was always the one to patch the gaps,solder the empty spaces with gold and silver,my
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War for Your Smile
I would fight gods,tear through the cosmos with nothing but my bare hands—for the shape of your smile.For that light that curves your lipsand paints the world in hues of gold.I would wage warson the edges of eternity,each battle a sacrificeto see you beam,to feel the warmth of your joy like sun through my veins.
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The Light You Still See
I am the heart of a dying star,spilling the last of my fire into the void.A ghost of brilliance, unraveling,yet you, a million light-years away,still see me burning. In your sky, I remain—a beacon,a shimmer untouched by time.You do not see the silence,the cinders where a sun once roared.You see only the light that lingers,never
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Through the Depths, Into the Flame
I have never been one to settle for the surface,To dance on the edge where the water is shallow.I want to dive, to sink into the depths of you,To trace the echoes of every sorrow—To find the constellations stitched into your scars,To breathe in the stardust of who you are. I asked for your truth,
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Across the Distance
Baby, I’m yours —All you have to dois whisper my name,and I will follow the sound.Through the hum of silence,through trembling skies,I’ll find my way to you. The distance yawns wide —a canyon carved by circumstance,an ocean of unanswered hours.But I will become the bridge,stone by stone, word by word.I will learn to fly —even
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Through the Shattered Glass (B.D. Nightshade)
I wake to a hollow silence.The air, stale and thick —A metallic whisper clings to my tongue. I sit up, slowly,The world tilts —Gravity drags me down. Hands trembling, smeared crimson.Not mine. Not mine?A wet sheen drying against my skin. I search the shadows.No answers, only echoes —A table overturned, its legs jutting like broken
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The Shadows Will Be Mine (B.D. Nightshade)
Chains and razor blades —But not the kind that whispers thrill.No, this is a symphony of screams.A crimson orchestra,Conducted by trembling veinsAnd the bite of steel. I creep beneath the bleeding moon,The night drips dread in my wake.I am judge, jury —And your sentence is carved in bone. Do not beg.Your pleas are hollow prayers,Eclipsed
Poetry by Rowan Evans 