🕯 I’m Afraid

I’m not afraid of monsters.

Monsters know what they are.
They come howling, unmasked,
wearing the weight of their rage like iron.
They strike—
but at least they strike true.

No.
I’m afraid of silk-tongued saints
with prayers curled in venom,
who kiss your cheek
and count your graves.

I fear the ones who whisper blessings
as they tighten the rope.
The ones who braid their envy with grace
and call it love.
The ones who dance in your light
but drink only your shadow.

Give me wolves with hungry eyes.
Give me daggers drawn in moonlight.
I can brace for blood.
But what defense for honey-laced curses
and hands that cradle
only to crush?

I’m not afraid of darkness—
it’s honest.
But light that blinds,
smiles that sting,
and soft voices hiding rot—
they haunt me.

Because evil in plain sight is a warning.
But evil in lace,
evil with laughter,
evil that sings—
that is a lullaby I’ll never sleep through.

So I have learned
to smile back at vipers,
to drink from the cup while watching it curdle.
To hold their gaze
as they speak in silk—
and rot quietly beneath the skin.

Because I know now:
the cruelest hands
do not strike—
they cradle.