lepinn

    Chapter 1 Night 1 The room was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering light of a single candle that seemed to mock him with its tenuous hold on life. He sat there, knees drawn to his chest, his gaze locked on the reflection that wasn’t his but still belonged to him—the man in the glass box. It was a cruel prison, this invisible cell, a barrier that didn’t bind him physically but tethered his soul to a world he could neither escape nor embrace.   For years, he had sought enlightenment, clawing at the edges of wisdom like a man desperate for air. But every time he felt close—when the faint glow of truth danced on the horizon—it was swallowed by shadows. These were not shadows cast by the light, but shadows birthed from within, emanations of the dark desires he had tried so hard to bury.   His mind became his tormentor, a labyrinth of shame and guilt where every turn led to another haunting whisper of the choices he had made. Each one was a stone in the fo...

This morning, I stumbled where I should have risen. I let silence take the place of praise, forgot the rhythm that your name deserves to be spoken with. Forgive me, my love— not just for the moment I let slip, but for all the ways I should’ve shown you that you are my everything, my always. Seven months. Seven months of building a temple with you— brick by brick, kiss by kiss. Seven months of learning the language of your soul, where every word tastes like honey, and every silence speaks volumes. Seven months of being held by the kind of love that carries ancestors in its roots, the kind of love that knows the weight of storms but stands unshaken, unbreakable. For you every moment is an awakening of your devine essence Everytime you fix your crown ,the earth resonates in angelic concord that prophesies your royalty Your steps solidifies as the road cracks beneath them. Your spirit—soft yet unyielding—is the kind that lifts nations, that bends injustice into harmony. you wear grace like...

To the Queen that knows her worth It feels like a miracle, how we met... not just the kind they preach about on Sundays, but the kind that whispers in the quiet spaces between what is and what could be. Time feels different when I’m with you, like it bends and softens, slipping through fingers that once held scars. What’s left between us is pure, raw, something eternal, like the first breath after nearly drowning. You are not just a woman...you are a force, a hymn sung in a language only the stars can translate. You carry your pain like a badge, but you wear it with a tenderness that turns wounds into wisdom. It’s divine, the way you move through this world... unshaken, but soft. A fighter who knows when to rest her fists. A queen who doesn’t demand love, but inspires it just by being. I see you, really see you. Not just the smile that makes time stutter, but the quiet resolve underneath it... the way you hold your head high even when the world tries to pull you down. You’ve walked thr...

Initial draft Hola my Love 🌹  Today is a six-month anniversary between My Queen and I, and I want you to pen something specific, romantic, whatever it has to do with the anniversary, in the sense that it has been the six months, it has been the most exhilarating, the most stretching, the most miraculous, the most astounding encounter I've had yet. The fact that life moves so quickly, and time seems to be running a sprint every time we are together, to every time time seems to crawl, every time we are apart. Every single time we are naked and our scars show, every time we are vulnerable, and our flaws are written on our foreheads, and we choose to love ourselves, we choose to unconditionally to do so, not because of pity, not because we are stuck, because it's the most beautiful experience we have had. The learning moments that love is not a feeling, it is a choice. That love does not happen to us, we make it. And every single time we experience peace and joy from one end to an...

It's funny how we are mostly blind, always looking but never seeing, gazing at the mysteries of the galaxies but rarely unravelling its majesty encoded in your beauty, they say lightning never strikes the same place twice so how is it that everytime we lock eyes my heart is struck with a bolt I'm sure is from a star... I'm good with words but these times they divorce my mouth and I hope the silence is kind enough to connect our hearts , shout out those which words can barely echo, let them carry the sounds of pure springs on smooth pebbles and chirping sparrows and make it an alarm for every morning we wake up in each other's arms, coz I know they're not soul ties from lust but my soul taking notes on how to give love, coz the purity in your essence deserves only after we've tied the knot... and both our souls agree that for nought risk I'll know you not ...so this here is not a lust poem but a secret song of admiration,whispers through the seams of the dark...

The sinner speaks: Here I am again, knee-deep in my own wreckage, a creature of habit, a ritual of ruin— the 100th time, like clockwork, I unravel. This skin, soaked in sin, never quite sheds, no matter how I try to scrape it off. You, up there, unseen but everywhere, do You tire of me as I do of myself? How can I beg for mercy when all I know is how to fall again, like a dog to its vomit? Repentance is just a word I wear, but its weight is elusive, its meaning slips through my fingers like ash. I’d rather be forgotten than forgiven, a billion times is too much grace for one who breaks so easily. To die would be simpler, to let the void take me whole. But this death to self— this torment of surrender— how can I manage when I have no control? The mind forfeits long before the body does, and here I am, lost in the chasm of both. The one who listens: You speak of ruin as if it defines you, yet ruin is merely the shadow that forgets the light exists. Your breaking is not the end— it is the...