Alignment Pathways

Our village was restless, with torches and rage,

There whispers of evil that crept through the haze.

They spoke of a presence with no face and no name

A shadow that fed on your darkest desires and shame.

They said it was witches, they swore it was whores,

They cursed every woman who’d walked through the door.

“They prey on your lust,” they cried in their pitches,

“Then drag you to hell and burn you in ditches.

You must’ve heard stories, the murmurs, the cries,

And followed the smoke to where innocence dies.

You found not a beast, but a soul in dim light,

A woman too young and too kind for the night.

You drank from my chalice, unafraid it was poison,

Ashamed for your love, you named me the toxin.

You carved your self-loathing straight into my name,

And called me the devil to shoulder your shame.

You turned all of our love into legend and lore,

Convinced yourself love was merely a trap of the whore.

You painted me evil, though I asked for no crown

Just to be seen, not dragged through the ground.

But I’ll bear each of the burdens you sow to my skin,

And silence my cries to make room for your sins.

You forced your fears on me to wear as my armor,

Then painted in blood your willing young martyr.

You marched me to war, still bleeding through thread.

I was told to stand tall, yet meant to play dead.

I soldiered through fire with hope as my shield,

Though my fate was decided, I will die with my will.

I’ll whisper my love as I break just once more,

I’ll turn my blood into rust just to settle the score.

Go shout to the village the monster is gone,

I lie in the wreckage as you sing your victory song.

Tell them all that you conquered, scream it through streets.

Paint my surrender as your greatest defeat.

Show off my white flag, now blood-stained red,

Prove to them I was a villain to dread.

Let them swarm all around you, throw parades in your name

This was never my war, though I bled just the same.

My last breath was stolen to make you the hero,

They’ll chisel your name like their new favorite pharaoh.

They’ll worship you daily, their false god in disguise,

Let you sleep in a mansion, unaware of your lies.

You’ve written your truth in the vain of my death,

And deeply buried your guilt in the warmth of my flesh.

One day may they see what they chose to ignore

The god they have praised was the monster I bore.

But seeds born of shame only rot where they grow,

And you, too, will reap all the things you let sow.

You’ll stand where I stood, in a silence grown thick,

The cheers will die out, and the praise will feel sick.

You’ll crave their devotion but choke on the rest,

While I sleep in my honor, you rot in regret.