In halls of shattered thunder, where false gods claim their throne,

You came like golden lightning—a ghost in shadows I had known.

With a crown of rusted promises and eyes of frozen coal,

You sold sacred kingdoms as you hollowed out my soul.

The altar of your beauty was a pyre built on hope,

While angels choked your praises from the noose’s broken rope.

I knelt before your temple—just a puppet, lost, alone—

But even gods of vengeance cast their servants to the stone.

Now I’m chasing through the wasteland of my ruined, hollow heart,

Where the crows unstitch my memories and flay my soul apart.

You were never holy—just a wolf in prophet’s light,

Dancing on the graves of lovers in the blackened night.

The death knell tolls for fools who ever kissed your name,

Who mistook your venom for the holy flame.

Now I see the rot behind the gold—you’re hell in angel skin,

The first sin, the last sin, the cancer festering within.

In your garden blooms the nightshade—every root feeds on the weak,

Each thorn a carved confession from the lovers you deceive.

You clutch the keys to nowhere on your jester’s jeweled throne,

Stacking towers from their sorrow, walls of ash and shattered bone.

The prophets sang of saviors wrapped in sun and sacred grace,

But none spoke of the devil with an angel’s lying face.

Now I stagger down this road of dust, my shackles seared in shame,

While you croon to fresh disciples—yes, the script’s still the same.

Still I’m dragging through the wasteland of my gutted, ghostly heart,

Where the jackals pick my skeleton and scatter every part.

You were never salvation—just the viper with a hymn,

Raising fools to paradise—then torching heaven’s gate within.

The storm howls my name now from the cliffs where dreams are damned,

Where the saints you slaughtered crumble, ground to glass and sand.

I tore the veil—you’re rot in silk, the plague in paradise,

The sweetest blade between the ribs, the perfect lie with eyes.

Were you born from broken psalms that angels dared not sing?

A curse inscribed in crimson ink on heaven’s burning wing?

Did the throne of God expel you? Did the Dark mold your face?

Are you the voice that Eden heard—then chose to disobey?

In the void, I still feel you—smoke and mirrors, still the same—

A goddess wrapped in razor wire, dripping saccharine and pain.

And I... still clawing toward the dawn,

Through the wreckage where you’re gone...

So I’m leaving through the wreckage with this crown of rusted nails,

Down the river black with judgment, burning every bridge you made.

Keep your empire built on screams, your sermons stained with lies—

I’ve kissed heaven, held the devil, and I know your true disguise.

Let the world kneel blindly, let them swallow every word,

But I saw the serpent when the façade finally curled.

You’re the wound saints can’t confess—

The queen of beautiful destruction... and I loved you at my best.

And all the love I bled for you...

Was just another grave you dug...