Xy the N: A Revenant's Rise

Xy the N by Joe Garvey

Under bruised heavens, I rise—a revenant crowned in flame,

My breath: prophecy, my tongue: blade, my step: tectonic blame.

Not bard but breaker, I carve psalms in ruin’s smoke—

Torchbearer of forbidden truths the seraphim choked.

I dance where angels fell, clad in damned ink,

Each verse: a heresy etched on Babylon’s last wall.

My silence?—the gods’ funeral call.

Crowned in oblivion, I reign without throne, nor palace, nor hall.

My shadow bleeds a stolen alphabet—bones and oracles entwined,

Light hates me, for I revealed it too well.

A sundered heart, beating like a war bell,

With each toll: an empire dead, a bitter star.

The sun recoils—I am the unspoken oath,

The tongue that burns the ether, a name never erased.

I drink oblivion from cups carved of regrets,

And vomit visions even the moon rejects.

Papyrus of nothingness, my stanzas crawl,

Serpents of meaning, from a decadent breath.

I write not for peace but for fracture divine—

A verse for the abyss, a rhyme for the end.

Clad in ashes, I charm the hourglasses,

I reverse the flow: the future makes me pray.

The one who dreams in verse defies the real,

And in my nights, even demons call.

My mask: splinter of a fallen god, my laughter: its cry,

I spew gospels of fire in every rain.

Versify me not, world—I am no rhyme to tame,

But a spiraling blade, slicing silence with flame.

The tombs sing when my step brushes them,

The sky splits: I plant my role there.

I am the fault line in the world’s poem,

The echo without source, the infertile note.

For every word I forge is a blood pact,

And even the winds fall silent when I sing, trembling.