The Pearl Around The Wound

She came from the

salt-deep, womb-dark sea,

Where names dissolve and

stars forget to burn.

Hair like ink poured from a closing eye,

Lips like promises

carved into obsidian.

They say she walks where

time forgets to breathe.

That her shadow

blooms in moonless rooms.

She is not a girl -

she is a wound with eyes,

And all who gaze are drawn into her dreaming.

Venus kissed her brow

and left it bruised.

Daeva touched her soul

and left it burning.

She grew fangs not to bite,

but to remember

The bloodline buried beneath altar and ash.

The serpent coils behind her ribs,

A hymn of hunger and forbidden gods.

She laughs in riddles that unmake kings

And dances barefoot

in her own funeral smoke.

In gardens of ruin,

she births new myth

Wet with chaos and silver-tongued rot.

Her touch is velvet laced with venom.

Her gaze is prophecy

sewn shut with thread.

O, little serpent of the veiled threshold -

You are not healing.

You are not whole.

You are the open wound the world dreams through.