I Wrote This And Called It A Poem

My heart is a graveyard—dark and still.
Let your demons play; let your shadows grin.
Look—your name is carved into the stone.
Read it like a warning.
Run your fingers over every spark—
they’ll burn, and still you’ll want to know.
Look for answers in my tone:
a hymn that bruises, soft as broken glass.
If you come seeking truth, you’ll find a throne—
built from bones and flesh.

Would you dare to kiss the pain?