Yeidara
In quiet hours, when the world forgets to listen, my soul whispers. These are the whispers beneath my skin, fragments of darkness, confessions of a dark poet, emotions too raw to cage.
Every poem here is a shadow, a piece of me carved out by experience, emotions, mystery, and truth. Step click carefully, this where the light fades and the ink bleeds
These aren't poems. There are midnight confessions, my silent storms, my unspoken echoes. This is my darkness, unveiled through ink.