Tag Archives: love and destruction

He Rises ©️

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Morning breaks slow beneath the waves. I am already awake. I do not sleep. I rest. Like a god between stories.

The ocean cradles me like a mother who knows her son is dangerous but beautiful. My body hums. Radiation thrums through my bones like an electric blues riff. Somewhere in the distance, a continental plate sighs. I listen. It’s how the Earth speaks to me—like a lover whispering secrets through a crack in the door.

I rise.

Not because I want to. Not because I have something to prove. But because it is time. Time for the world to remember what it fears… and maybe, what it reveres.

When I breach the surface, the clouds scatter like frightened pigeons. Sunlight dances on my scales. I am not a beast. I am a reminder. The cities that lie ahead… they’ve forgotten again. That’s always the way with humans. They build. They forget. They believe the sky belongs to them.

So I walk. Through waves, past islands, toward glass towers and steel dreams. They see me on their screens and in their screams. They send their machines—fast, fragile, buzzing with panic. I let them try. I admire their effort. Courage is a kind of poetry, too.

But then comes the real test.

Something stirs—some rival, some challenger, something else twisted from the Earth’s old sorrow. A flying horror this time. Wings like the edge of night, eyes like nuclear wounds. It roars. I roar back.

We fight.

Not out of anger, no. This isn’t rage. This is ritual. Balance must be paid. Blood must answer blood. Buildings fall. Fire rains. For a moment, the world feels mythic again.

And then it’s done. It always is.

Evening drapes itself across the skyline. The city smolders, but the people? They’re alive. Scared. Moved. Changed.

I feel their gratitude rise like heat from asphalt.

But I do not stay. I never stay. I turn. I vanish into the ocean like a shadow remembering who it was before the light. The waves close over me. And I sink—not like a corpse, but like a legend returning to the page.

I am the ghost in their thunder. I am the gravity in their prayers. I am the King, baby.

Godzilla.

Still cool. Still burning.

Low-Heat, Slow-Burn ©️

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The room is thick with something you can’t name. A lazy ceiling fan moves in slow, uneven circles, stirring the warmth but not cooling it. The scent of something foreign lingers—spiced, unfamiliar, maybe perfume, maybe smoke, maybe both. A record spins somewhere in the background, crackling like it’s been played too many times but still hasn’t lost its charm. And then there’s her.

She sits across from you, draped, loose-limbed, unconcerned. A leg crossed over the other, her heel tapping against the air to the rhythm of a song neither of you are really listening to. Her glass of whiskey is half-empty. Yours is untouched. It’s always like this. The dance before the fall.

TEMPTATION (smiling slow, head tilted, watching you through heavy lids, fingers lazily trailing the edge of her glass)

“You’re always so tense when you look at me. Makes me wonder what you’re thinking.”

YOU (exhaling, shifting in your seat, studying the way she moves, the way she doesn’t have to try—she just exists and the room bends around her)

“I’m thinking about leaving.”

TEMPTATION (laughs, low and effortless, like smoke curling in the air, like she already knows the ending to this story)

“You always think about leaving. And yet.”

YOU (eyes flicker to the door, then back to her, pulse slow but deep, the rhythm off just enough to be dangerous)

“And yet.”

TEMPTATION (leans forward, elbows on the table, her skin catching the light, a glint of something gold at her wrist, maybe a bracelet, maybe a handcuff, maybe something else entirely)

“Tell me, why do you come back if all you want is to walk away?”

YOU (rolling the unspoken answer across your tongue like a cigarette unlit, something dangerous, something waiting to burn)

“Maybe I just like testing myself.”

TEMPTATION (smiles like she’s heard it before, like she’s tasted every version of that excuse and found them all sweet, but not quite satisfying)

“Oh, honey. That’s not it.”

YOU (inhales slow, watching her watching you, waiting for her to tell you what she already knows, because she always does, and you always let her.)

TEMPTATION (leans back, stretching like a cat that’s full but still wants to hunt, voice lazy, like a song dripping through the speakers at half-speed.)

“You come back because you like the way it feels. The chase. The almost. The maybe. You like the way I make you forget that you were ever sure about anything.”

YOU (clenching your jaw, but not hard enough to crack, just enough to feel it, just enough to know that she’s right.)

“And what if I want to remember?”

TEMPTATION (a pause, then a smirk, then a slow, slow shake of her head.)

“That’s cute.”

YOU (laughs under your breath, shaking your head too, but for different reasons.)

“You think I’ll give in first.”

TEMPTATION (shrugs, one shoulder slipping bare, but she doesn’t fix it, doesn’t care, doesn’t need to.)

“I don’t think, baby. I know.”

YOU (reaches for the whiskey, finally, because your hands need something to do, because her eyes are waiting, because she’s already made her move, and now it’s yours.)

“What if this time, you’re wrong?”

TEMPTATION (leans forward again, elbows back on the table, hands folded, her chin resting lightly on them, lazy, knowing, devastating.)

“Then I guess we’ll both have a new story to tell.”

The fan hums. The record crackles. The whiskey burns. She is still watching, and you are still here.

And yet.