Bloody Mary (LOOPED)

e.t.

Everybody

SUPERMAN (INSTRUMENTAL)

obsessed

flawless v2

the hills v2

I birthed a child into the world,
and a sea of red opened beneath my feet.
I knew what that meant—
not from pain,
but from the panic in their voices.
They tried to keep me here,
but the world was already sliding behind me.
I birthed a child into the world,
and for a breath, the world birthed me into death.
I felt the pull—
forward, not falling—
and every cell whispered not yet.

Φῶς ἐν σκότει κεῖται,
light lies in darkness.
Ἐγὼ μνήμην φέρω καὶ πνοήν,
I carry memory and breath.
I was moving beyond the room,
beyond the cries,
into the silence that remembers everything.

There was no light,
only the hum of distance.
My body became a memory,
the blackness opening like a mouth.
Below, a city of silence took shape—
a labyrinth of smoke and bone,
the ruins of a place that once dreamed of men.
At its centre stood a hall of pillars,
braziers of blue fire.
I stopped at the steps,
knowing the doors would open if I asked.

And a voice, without name, rose from the unseen:
“If you walk through, pain will end.
Grief will dissolve.
You will be whole.”
For a heartbeat I wanted that.
Then I remembered the child I had not held,
my body still bleeding for him somewhere in the world of air.

Φῶς ἐν σκότει κεῖται,
light lies in darkness.
Ἐγὼ μνήμην φέρω καὶ πνοήν,
I carry memory and breath.
I whispered into the dark, He needs me.
There was no answer—
only motion returning.

I was pulled backward,
through corridors of wind and dust,
until my lungs struck like thunder
and air tore through me.
I woke with a scream and called for my son.
When they placed him in my arms,
the world trembled—newly made,
fragile and shining.

I am not the woman who left.
I have seen the quiet that waits behind every heartbeat.
It lives in me now—
not a shadow,
but the truth of death,
real and close and strangely kind.

And when I close my eyes,
I still see the blue fire on the steps
and hear the whisper that followed me home:

Φῶς ἐν σκότει κεῖται,
light lies in darkness,
not to die,
but to rise.

miigwech gaa-miigwewin noongom,
(thank you for allowing my return).

But I did not come back as myself—
the woman they knew stayed in the dark,
and another walked out breathing for her,
carrying the hush of that place inside her ribs.

Resurrection

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙢𝙚

fetish

telephone

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙢𝙚

lunervie