It waits beyond the velvet veil
With breath like frost and fingers frail
It knocks when dusk begins to bleed
And feeds on doubt, a silent need
No blade can pierce its shadowed skin
The war it wages dwells within
Its name, etched cold on trembling bone
Anxiety, the throne unthroned
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Author:
Iris Lynn (
Offline) - Published: October 13th, 2025 08:54
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
The more you worry, the more chance it is going to happen, and when it happens, the more chance you told yourself so.
Mind you, 99% never happens. In saying that, that 1% could.
A lovely write that feels like something I would strive to write. It felt so familiar that I could not help but give it a fave. The only change I would have made is instead of unthroned I would have said dethroned but this may well have been intended to show the contempt for rigid accepted words.
Crazy enough I was thinking of using dethroned, I kinda wish I did. But thank you for your words 😊
You are most welcome
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