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VELVET STATIC

By Vera Von Monika

I don’t speak in daylight.
The truth fits better in shadows,
between cigarette ghosts
and guitar strings gone numb.

You walk like regret doesn’t touch you,
but I hear it in your chords
scratched vinyl hearts
and sirens that never learned to scream.

They think you’re made of smoke,
but I’ve seen the burn marks:
a rebel stitched from silk and scars,
louder in silence than the world at full volume.

Tell me,
do your memories come back in colour,
or do they fade
like the last light
in a room that only knows night?

You write with blood,
but bleed like ink.
I could be the page
if you ever want the chaos to speak back.

Not a flame
just a mirror
with a little more warmth
than you’re used to.

So if your midnight ever feels too wide,
too quiet,
too clean,
find me where the velvet static breathes.
I’ll whisper back,
a little off-key,
but always yours
in the noise.

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