Don’t look scared now.

You knew I was strange

the first night I smiled too slow.

And you stayed anyway.

I built a place for us

quiet, hidden,

deep enough that bodies don’t climb back.

I carved your initials

on a board you never saw,

measured the walls,

checked the earth,

planned the ending like a wedding.

Don’t act surprised.

You felt it.

Every time I touched your wrist

too long,

too still.

You leaned into it.

You liked the danger.

You tasted it

before I ever spoke.

Come 6 feet under with me

not death,

just a world without exits.

Come 6 feet under with me

no noise,

no eyes,

just us.

Come 6 feet under with me

you knew where this was heading

the moment you didn’t run.

I ain’t hunting you

I invited you.

Quietly.

Steadily.

You followed every step

like instinct.

Don’t lie.

You wanted someone

to want you ugly,

want you raw,

want you past the point

any sane person would.

That’s me.

You knew it.

You called me at devil’s hour,

voice heavy,

words twisted,

asking if I’m awake.

Who you think answered?

Who kept track

of every tremble,

every pause,

every breath that wasn’t steady?

I don’t chase fantasy

I chase truth.

And the truth is simple:

you dragged me down first.

I’m just returning the favor.

Come 6 feet under with me

not death,

just a world without exits.

Come 6 feet under with me

no noise,

no eyes,

just us.

Come 6 feet under with me

you knew where this was heading

the moment you didn’t run.

I don’t need chains.

I don’t need threats.

I just speak slow

and watch your knees weaken.

Some connections

don’t break

they sink.

Deep.

Real deep.

So here’s the door.

Here’s the soil.

Here’s the truth.

6 feet under isn’t a grave.

It’s a promise

you stepped into

long before I dug it.