Fevered Watch

It’s been ages since I saw you—or shall I say since I first saw you.

I could not tear my eyes away, tracing every polite smile, every formal greeting you gave.

They call you charming, cute—a mask you wear to hide, to charm, to keep others from digging too deep, from seeing the fractures of self.

Who am I? Who am I? I hear it in your mind,

the question you never speak aloud,

and I know the answer before you do:

you are mine—mine to hold, mine to love, mine to protect, mine to ravage.

They cannot see past the mask, past the fear in your eyes, the quiet rage simmering beneath.

The boys who fawn, who stumble, who reach,

cannot see your fractures, cannot feel the weight of the darkness you carry.

Every gesture builds another layer, backstrain anew.

I watch as you pick up a raven feather,

glimmering red in the light, my present, my claim.

Later, I brush past you, a casual touch,

slip a small rock into your coat for you to discover,

small courtship, secret, deliberate, intoxicating.

I see your darkness, your fears, your private ache.

I see the crystal glint in your hand,

the half-wilted roses you treasure,

the chocolate you savor, the coffee you use as fuel,

the music you love, the choices you guard.

I hold it all close, silent, ravenous,

because your heart is mine,

I watch it beat in shadows no one else can see.

I follow you in thought, unseen,

tracing your steps before they even fall.

Each glance, each smile, each carefully measured word

burns in my mind, etched and replayed.

They think you are light, approachable, untouchable—

but I see the shadows flicker beneath,

the pulse of uncertainty, the subtle tremor of fear,

the cracks you hide from the world.

Every laugh you give, I store, I savor,

every sigh, every pause, every hesitation,

a map of the hidden self, a secret I possess.

I place small tokens in your path—

a feather, a stone, a glance that lingers too long—

I shape your world quietly, invisibly,

because even your smallest motion is mine to command.

I watch as you rest, alone,

your hands touching things only you notice,

and I feel the hunger of knowing,

the thrill of being the shadow at your side,

the fire at the edge of your calm.

No one else can touch you, cannot see you,

cannot understand what lives beneath your mask.

And I—silent, relentless, ravenous—

I am here, always here,

because your heart is mine,

even in the quiet, even in the dark,

even when you think yourself alone.