I fold into myself like a prayer no god ever answered.

The silence here is so deep you can hear the stars breathing.

I do not bloom.
I rot beautifully.

I walk where shadows breathe my name,
where wings scrape warnings through the dark—
and every beat of those blackened birds
echoes the truth I buried in my own bones.

I wear silence the way others wear perfume:
too much, too close, choking.
My skin is a locked diary written in bruises
that never quite fade to yellow.

Touch me and your fingers will come away
smudged with the ash of every man
who thought he could hold a storm
without drowning.

Look at me and remember:
some doors, once opened,
let the night walk out wearing your face.

I am not waiting for you.
I am the reason you stop breathing
when the hallway gets too long
and the light forgets your name.

Come closer if you dare.
I have already begun
unmaking you
in the softest possible way.

Wings of raven bone unfurl, carrying her into the night of infinite darkness.