I wrote a little poem on having lichen sclerosis called: Flame Beneath the Flesh

It burns where no one looks,

a silent scream beneath my skin,

itching, tearing, relentless—

a war waged in shadows.

I trace the scars no one sees,

each one a mark of quiet suffering,

each flare a reminder

that my body betrays me

even as I plead for mercy.

I hate it. I fear it.

I cradle it, fight it, survive it.

Eve...

The shadows whispered what I feared,

a truth I never dared to name.

The mask I wore has disappeared,

and left me hollow, scorched by flame.

The sky collapsed, the earth grew thin,

a silence swallowed every breath.

The revelation lived within—

a vow of ruin, a kiss of death.

I saw my soul, a broken seam,

stitched together with lies I spun.

The waking world became a dream,

and every battle lost wa...

The night splits open, raw and red,

a wound that drips where angels bled.

From marrowed dark the figures crawl,

their bodies broken, faceless, tall.

Their jaws unhinge with dripping cries,

a nest of worms for teeth and eyes.

Their tongues are ropes, their breath is rot,

they gnaw the air, they drink what’s not.

The earth itself recoils in pain,

as footprints seep like oil stains.

They drag the s...