She Was Never Mine.

There was another girl in her life,

her name was Crystal.

She came to her like a theif in the night,

promising solace in her cold brittle arms.

Crystal made her feel like flying,

not with wings,

but with fire in her veins.

She came to her like the cold in summer,

the warm in winter,

soft-lipped and knowing,

promising a love that never left,

a touch that never judged.

She held her close in the quiet,

when the world was too loud,

too cruel.

Crystal listened,

without questions,

just the hush of ecstasy

and a breath that smelled like escape.

With her, the nights were stars

bursting behind eyelids.

She wrapped her in silk smoke,

spun kisses of frost and flame,

and whispered:

"You’ll never need anyone but me."

Crystal was there when no one else was.

A lover,

a mother,

a savior in shimmer and sting.

She filled the cracks with lightning,

made broken feel beautiful,

made ruin taste sweet.

Crystal made her feel.

Emotions heightened.

But Crystal was a fucking lie.

She wasn’t warmth,

she was frost that burned,

a match pressed to the lips

that begged for solace.

She didn’t love her,

she used her,

like fire uses wood

until all that’s left

is ash and echo.

Crystal drained her slowly,

first the sleep,

then the hunger,

then the will.

She kissed her pulse,

then stole it.

She was the rush

before the ruin,

the high

before the hollow.

Her laughter grew quiet,

her joy grew thin,

her skin,

a parchment of stories

she no longer remembered writing.

Crystal never held her hand,

she held her hostage.

Every embrace

was a chain.

Every promise

was a blade.

She loved her

like a flame loves a moth,

dancing close,

until there was nothing left

but a flicker and a fall.

I'll never forget her,

and all her conniving ways.

Her name was Crystal...

Crystal meth...

-Cyrus K.

Sweetness 4 You

the fates can't let us collide

you see

I'm cursed

my days filled with anxiety

but your voice

god, your voice

it lingers in the marrow of my mind

like a prayer never answered

like worship turned wound

an altar trembling in your shadow

i know it's hard for you now

so collaps into me

drown me sweetly

steep into my very being

my body and soul is all yours

not even the holy dare to enter

untouched even by the divine

do you think

"would their eyes forget me

if i buried myself beneath the waves?"

I know

you do

you wear it like skin

but my love, your fate is a prophecy

they would go blind

before they ever looked away

they would die for you

bleed for you

the heavens would fight

for an eternity

to claim your darkness

and to breathe YOUR NAME once

though the gods themselves choke on it

2 April, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

“I choose to love you in silence because in silence I find no rejection, and in silence no one owns you but me.”

— Rumi

I am not trapped.

I am abandoned.

There is no fight left in my limbs

no fire left in my chest

Only the heavy, sinking knowledge

that I have lived too long

in a body that was never mine to keep.

I do not recognize this face

these hands,

this voice that cracks like old pavement

every time I try to speak

I used to scream for help.

Now I don’t even bother whispering

No one listens to a woman

who dug her own grave.

I loved a girl

like the earth loves the rain,

knowing she’d never stay,

but needing her just the same.

She cried once in my arms

and I caught her tears

as if they were stars

fallen just for me...

but she wept for him.

I bandaged wounds

carved by another man’s hands,

whispering lullabies

to a heart that beat for someone else.

Every time she broke,

I shattered more quietly.

She kissed me...

like a door half-open,

warmth lingering on the threshold,

but her soul still pacing

somewhere far inside a house

I was never invited to live in.

And still,

I gave her my all,

a love without borders,

a fire without fuel,

a sea willing to drown

just to hold her reflection

for one more second.

Is this not the cruel poetry of love?

To give,

not for return,

but because you were born

with hands that only know how to hold,

even when holding means breaking.

They say unrequited love

is the purest kind.

Perhaps because it never has the chance

to rot with reality.

It stays eternal;

not because it lives,

but because it dies

beautifully.

To love like this

is to bleed in silence

and call it devotion.

To smile through heartbreak

because her happiness,

even in someone else's arms...

still feels holier

than my own.

- Cyrus K.

I was the moth.

Not blind,

but aching.

I was not deceived by the flame,

I longed for its ruin.

To be undone in that heat,

to burn knowing,

was a worship beyond reason.

A thousand lifetimes in darkness

could never equal

one death

in such light.

-Cyrus K.

I do not believe there is a more dangerous and destructive force in all the world than hope, but I do not believe there is a more necessary or perfectly beautiful one either.

Tyler Knott Gregson

“Real tears are not those that fall from the eyes and cover the face, but those that fall from the heart and cover the soul.”

— Unknown