Get on the floor!
Slave master is going to bat you.
Spill out your blood, spit on your frame,
He will put metal in your bones,
Blast you, chain you, put you down.

But you have muscles and fists that can swing,
You have words like poison,
Pure passion and intent,
You shall break iron,
And emerge from the den.
Just like a Phoenix,
You shall rise again,
You shall rise again.

One day when the masks come off,

And the forgotten smiles touch us once again.

We will have listened to the unsaid words,

Of songs that speak of love and pain.

One day when the air is clean,

We will leave our homes and breathe anew,

To take in life, but give back much more,

Knowing we’ve won the battle of many and few.

One day when this all makes sense,

When every tear is wiped, every heart is lit.

Maybe we will look back and tell ourselves,

It wasn’t the easiest puzzle, but yes, I did my bit.

One day…

Soon there will be no captains to lead,

No gods will come down to save you.

The strongest man will kneel,

As the iron rusts and crumbles.

The last arrow will be shot,

As the widow wails in despair.

Come winter, the soldiers will yield,

As lone feathers will fill the ivory fields.

Guardians will emerge just to fall.

It will be an age of crown-less kings,

His reign made supreme.

In his wake, their world will be filled with a scarlet mist,

As its people flee like ants.

Devils will burn as dragons are cast from heavens,

The sword shall break, the shield shattered,

Their execution, punishment to those who defy.

Pray even to the stars, and they shall fall too.

In the end, only his vision remains—

One that is of death, of desolation, of fury.

As his web of darkness plagues the world like wasps.

He who bends reality,

Who controls time,

Who tortures minds,

Who takes souls,

Who seeks power,

Who dominates space—

Behold! The Mad Titan comes.

I want to transform myself

In a shield.

I want to transform myself

In something unbreakable.

Because I want to protect myself from this world.

But I remember,

I am strong,

And I can fight,

I can make myself indestructible.

Nobody is going to hurt me.

Because my skin is me,

My virtue,

My power,

My force,

Is what I am.

They called me soft,

So I learned to be steel.

Not cold—

But calm like a blade before battle.

I do not bend.

I do not crack.

I carry scars like medals.

My silence? A loaded gun.

My kindness? A choice, not a weakness.

You can hammer at my will,

You can storm my skies,

But my heart,

My iron heart,

Beats louder than your noise.

We are not made of stardust.

We are the fire that fuels it.

We walk where others fall,

Speak when silence is demanded,

And rise not from the ashes—

But with them.

You call us reckless,

But we are architects of rebellion.

We dream dangerously.

We love loudly.

We live like storms.

And if we burn?

So be it.

We were never meant to flicker.

We were meant to blaze.

There is a war beneath my skin.

Every breath I take

Is a victory no one sees.

I am not built for peace,

But I am not chaos either.

I am bone and thunder,

Grace and grit,

I am the eye of every storm

You thought you could contain.

So when you come for me,

Come knowing this—

I may fall,

But I don’t break.

I echo.

They warned you about wolves,

The ones who prowl under moonlight,

Who tear and howl and hunger.

But no one told you—

Wolves like me don’t chase prey.

We guard our own.

I don’t need a pack to stand tall.

I’ve walked alone through storms,

With blood on my tongue

And purpose in my stride.

I don’t howl for help.

I howl so the world knows

I’m still here.

I’ve cried oceans,

But I never drowned.

The tides pulled me under,

But I learned to breathe beneath the weight.

My soul—salty, heavy, real—

Carries storms and still sings.

Call me fragile,

But I’m forged in deep waters.

And no wave, no flood, no tide

Can take what I’ve already claimed:

Myself.

He once sat high, where banners kissed the wind,

Where swords bowed low and war songs thinned.

A thousand drums beat for his name,

Now silence is all that dares remain.

His throne lies cracked, its gold turned rust,

A legacy buried beneath broken trust.

The walls that echoed victory cries

Now hold the whispers of unheard goodbyes.

No traitor's blade, no rival’s scheme—

Just time, the thief, unraveling dreams.

The people fled, the statues wept,

The crown he bore—forever slept.

Yet look—he stands, not bowed, but bare,

No jewels, no robe, no throne, no heir.

Only scars and stories carved in skin,

Proof of what it means to win… and lose…

…and rise again within.