Still chasing the fire I know I should not touch. Still choosing the storm over fragile silence.
Sorries fall like final confessions — for words never spoken, for love never offered, for a life left unlived.
Moonshine and death…
Six years compressed into one relentless week…
Childhood shadows wear my face. They smile when peace draws near, then drag me back into the only language I truly understand: chaos.
Even when stillness is close enough to touch, my hands refuse it. They only know how to hold fire.
I am too addicted to darkness to ever fully choose peace.
Inner Peace…
© 2026 Thomas Köppen. All Rights Reserved
Thomas,
powerful poem but you’re mistaken about one thing. Darkness didn’t prevail. You did.
Leni