Without Merit

You condemn me from shadows you've never dared to leave, Crafting judgment from fragments you refuse to believe. I wear your scorn like armor, forged in silent wars, And still you tremble—because I never needed your doors. You pass your sentences like rituals in a dying faith, But I know truth: it doesn’t sit in the mouths of the wraith. You mistake stillness for cold, and fire for spite— Yet your hatred flickers. I burn infinite night. You spoke of Hell as if it would break me. But I’ve lived there long before you named it hatefully. There, I do not suffer. There, I become. And your fear makes the flames taste like home. I watched you recoil at the mirror I held— Not my reflection, but your own truths compelled. You wore masks to make me a villain of need, But only the hollow fear what they can’t read. Your vengeance has rhythm but no soul to sing, It cracks like glass—fragile in everything. You’re not chasing justice. You’re chasing control. And failing to fracture an unshaken soul. So go on—gnash, howl, and pretend you're right, While I walk through your fire and carry the night. You’ll meet me again where you think I’ll fall, But I’ll be standing, tall, in the ruin of it all. And when your belief finally shatters in smoke, I’ll ask you gently through the ash you choke: “Do you believe me now?”—my voice a quiet sword. Not seeking revenge. Only truth restored.