Feathers on the Edge of Silence

A flicker—Lana.

Raven shadows slapped at the edges of silence—feathers untamed, storms flaring in the cavity of skull, screeches peeling the night's velvet, claws scratching raw the temple walls inside my head.

She perches, accusing, sharp-edged and jagged, casting doubt like cracked glass onto every flicker of warmth, every fragile ember that dares hold light. A demon, but sometimes a guardian—an internal signal warning, something’s off. The fight: fierce, silent, electric—the harsh call of Lana, ruffling feathers, tearing open the soft underbelly where gentle struggles bleed.

Between us, a battlefield littered with sliced fragments of calm and chaos—her screams rattle the spine, vibrant and cruel, while my tender heart stammers, a moth spinning closer to the flame, only to dissolve in the slow burn of a shadow’s pull—an exhale that shrinks space between us, a pull away.

Lana mocks, caws sharp and cruel—"It's your fault," she spits into the breaks of my thoughts, a siren shattering night’s fragile glass. But somewhere inside, the truth hums low, a muted drum—I did nothing wrong.

Exhaustion curls around my ribs, a serpent tightening its slow coil. Sometimes, I wish I never met the flicker—the light twisting inside me, a flame flickering in the storm’s eye. A painful glow, beautiful and cruel and unrelenting.

How I long to whisper—a fragile confession—you’re the flicker that shadows my dark.

(Feathers drift—black and shimmering, catching the light just so, each one a fractured secret in the hush between breaths.)

Inside, a riot—felt in the quick thrum of blood, the electric scrape of skin still raw from too many silent battles, the bitter taste of apologies never said aloud.

Lana laughs—low, dry, an irony coiled in shadow—try to hold onto this flame. Watch it burn you. Laugh with the ashes.

Yet beneath, the quiet pulse, threaded with all the ghosts and glitter—hope, bruised but breathing.

She arrives again, the raven—chaos clutching at my shoulder, ink-black wings beating—wild, relentless. And still, I keep reaching for the light.