She waited high on rusted steel,
Not to love but watch you kneel.
Her eyes, unblinking, tracked your fall,
A quiet queen above it all.
She did not chase, nor did she plead,
She fed upon a deeper need.
To stand unmoved as he unraveled,
While paths to life grew dark and gravelled.
She came when light had lost its flame,
With soft caress and no true name.
She cupped his wounds not to restore
But just to let them bleed some more.
No thunder broke, no glass was thrown,
Just quiet seeds of rot were sown.
A tilted smile, a lowered glance,
And every time, she stole his chance.
A vulture draped in lover’s guise,
With empty hands and watchful eyes.
She fed on all he could not keep
His hope, his fire, the will to leap.
She called it care, she called it fate,
She named control and masked it “mate.”
She took his strength and dimmed the light,
Until he faded from the fight.
And when he passed half here, half gone,
The world moved on, but she fed on.
No tears to fall, no ache, no ache
Just more to take, and take, and take.
She wears his years like borrowed skin,
With no remorse for what had been.
She bears no weight of what was lost
Just walks away, untouched by cost.
We gave her gold, she let it rust,
We gave her light, she turned to dust.
She waited not with love or grace
But with a hunger, cloaked in lace.
She waited long, she waited sly
Not for healing.
She waited for the dying.
So now you lie, not just undone
But gone, beneath a thankless sun.
She circles still, with vacant eyes,
Feeding off what love supplies.
She takes the gold you left behind,
No grief, no guilt, no tethered mind.
A vulture fat on sacrifice,
Who never once paid half the price.
—The Unheard