When the branches of trees began to shake, I smelled the fragrance of your shadow’s wake. The whispers of wind carried your name, And every breath rekindled the flame. I imagined the horrors you left behind, The twisted echoes that scarred my mind. The past returned like a bleeding rhyme, Dragging me back to that fevered time. Once again, my skull was pierced with nails, A storm of agony, cold as hail. And once again, I saw the crimson glow, An iron rod raised, striking low. I asked you softly, “Will you break me tonight?” You smiled and vanished into the night. But a voice remained—chilling, yet true, "You have high patience… I can’t scare you." Yet deep inside, I knew the lie, For fear still blooms when demons sigh. And when the trees begin to weep, I pray for dawn, but darkness keeps.