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Poem

She comes not with love,
but with the scent of forgotten gods—
lilac laced with sorrow,
laughter hiding the abyss.

Her eyes do not see you,
they scan—
for cracks in your crown,
for wounds you wear like medals.

She knows you long to be seen—
so she becomes the mirror.
Reflects your power,
until it is hers.

She offers no war,
only surrender.
No blade,
only velvet ropes of praise.

You give her your fire
for a kiss that chills.
Your purpose, for a smile
that vanishes at dawn.

She does not need to conquer you—
you do it for her.
In the name of "love,"
you burn your kingdom down.

But she fears the one who sees.
The man who hears the whisper
beneath the moan,
the silence behind the scream.

He cannot be bought with beauty,
nor caged by need.
He names the mask,
and breaks the spell.

And she—
now powerless—
must return to shadow,
awaiting another crown to steal.

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