Green-Eyed Shadows
She slips in through the hour between need and regret,
Her scent rising off the sheets still stained with secret debt,
A parasite trailing the wake of unfinished prayers,
Feeding on the silence after laughter splits the air.She
waits in the knotted bedsheets, in the slow unspooling sigh,
Pressing lips to longing’s ache,
her gaze set to pry—A priestess at the altar of every denied desire,
Gnawing marrow from the bones that the living can’t retire.
She’s the hunger behind every half-smile at dawn,
The tremor in the voice that says, “Move on,”A ghost painted green,
cloaked in ancient myth,
Whispering ruin with every poisoned gift.In rooms thick with secrets
and locks never turned,
She builds her kingdom from every lesson unlearned—With
each careless joy glimpsed on passing faces,
Her venom seeps, staining even sacred places.
No mirror ever holds her, yet she shapes every glance,
The shadow flickering just beyond chance.Lovers become strangers
when she draws near,
Turning warmth to suspicion, delight to
fear.Every kindness another blade in the gut,
Every compliment salted, every wound left
unshut.She tallies up smiles as sins against fate,
Every friend’s good fortune curdling to hate.
Envy’s a prayer whispered behind a shaking hand,
A midnight mass where only the damned stand.She’s the mask behind laughter
that curdles to spite,
The echo that gnaws through the bone of the night.Each memory twisted,
each day undersold,
She carves history anew—jewels ripped from fool’s gold.Green-eyed, never sated,
always hungry for more,
She claws at the walls until envy is all she adores.
There are no saints here, only sinners who wish,
Who watch others feast and choke on their dish.She turns sunlight to shadows,
blessings to doubt,
Even in triumph, she finds something to flout.She
is the hiss in the crowd at the edge of applause,
The rustle of jealousy tightening its jaws.She is the echo in rooms
where no laughter was meant,
The itch in the soul that never relents.
No knife ever sharper than longing unshared,
No cage more complete than a life unimpaired—By someone else’s comfort,
their beauty or gain,
She paces the cell built of hunger
and pain.She takes up residence in the marrow of shame,
A poltergeist mocking the sound of your name.Every victory not yours a wound
that won’t heal,
Each gentle success a lash meant to peel.
With every lover who smiles, every rival who wins,
Her laughter grows darker, the real torture
begins.Envy is ritual—a daily slow bleed,
A sacrament of wanting, a cult built on need.She is the judge of all comfort,
the curse in all grace,
Wearing new faces in every embrace.She is
the taste of bile as you watch others eat,
A hunger that festers and never admits defeat.
She builds monuments of resentment with bricks of lost years,
Moss crawling upward, watered by tears.She
sculpts a throne out of what others discard,
And sits in the ruins, lips pressed hard—Against glass that distorts,
against light turned to green,
Where envy commands and mercy’s unseen.She
is the hand in the mirror merging with mine,
A dual existence, warped and malign.
And when the world celebrates, she’s the silence inside,
A leech in the marrow, a black hole in pride.All victories are hollow,
all laughter decays,
Under her rule, even the stars lose their blaze.She is ritual, she is hunger,
she is the chill in the soul,
A ghost crowned by envy, never whole.In the end, the mirror cracks,
but the gaze remains keen,
For the shadow is eternal, and her eyes are always green.