Bloodstone

I carry the weight of a shattered crown,

Red veins carved in unholy ground.

Every step echoes iron and ash,

A relic of pain where the shadows clash.

It beats when I sleep,

It burns when I breathe,

A heart that’s not mine

But refuses to leave.

A cursed jewel buried deep inside,

Cold fire dripping from the cracks I hide.

It drags me down, but it makes me whole,

A bleeding shard etched into my soul.

The walls whisper secrets in crimson stone,

Voices that swear I am never alone.

Hands reach through the dark to remind me still,

That the ancient wound has a will to kill.

I’ve tried to carve it out,

But the scar just spreads.

Every drop of silence

Paints the world in red.

It’s not a gem—it’s the weight of sin,

A shrine to the void that I keep within.

A cursed jewel buried deep inside,

Cold fire dripping from the cracks I hide.

It drags me down, but it makes me whole,

A bleeding shard etched into my soul.

So I walk with the stone that bleeds in me,

A nameless heir to a dark legacy.

Not light, not hope, not flesh, not bone—

I am the relic. I am the throne.

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