The Tortured Poets Department Lyrics Novels & Stories

Instead, I stared at the sheet music spread out before me. *I seek the warmth of your embrace, The comfort of your familiar face, But now I’m just a shadow in the night, Longing for you to return, to make it right.* My eyes skimmed the lyrics I had penned, and my breath caught in my throat. How was it possible that, at this age, I still hadn’t found my answers? Helplessness washed over me, a familiar sensation I thought I had outgrown. The thoughts gnawed at me as I read and reread my own words, each line echoing my turmoil.

Often, I waited until I was starving to death, only for them to return home jolly and well-fed. Similar occurrences repeated, and I started to cook for myself like I had done in the past. Maybe because I hadn't cooked for so long, my skills had deteriorated. Right now, I could only stare at the charred toast in front of me. That night, I ate alone. The bitter taste of burnt bread filled my mouth, spreading to my heart. My eyes grew red, and I couldn't control the tears rolling down my cheeks. I recalled my parents' harsh admonitions, Blake blaming me for everything and refusing to trust me, and Remy framing me for no good reason.

Elena sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Her fists clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palms. She had thought she could escape. That she could slip away while Alexander slept, disappear into the city, and take control of her life again. But she had been wrong. The men at the gate—the debt collectors, the predators who saw her as payment—had shattered that illusion. She was trapped. Her breath came out shaky as she recalled the moment she had looked back at Alexander, her heart hammering with the sick realization that he had known all along.

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a message—an address. In the past, I would have swallowed every ounce of pain and humiliation, dragging myself to complete whatever task Lucas threw at me—out of guilt, out of some desperate attempt to lessen his resentment toward me. But not anymore. Without a thought, I opened a delivery app and hired a courier. My best friend set down the bowl of porridge she’d been holding, her eyes red as she tucked the blanket around me. "Lily, why are you still holding on to Lucas? How much more does he want? How long is he going to keep torturing you? Does he want to drive you to the edge?"

she snapped her fingers dramatically. “You’re already a problem, Lola. Just not the academic kind.” She flipped her braids like a diva. “Exactly. Balance is the key.” The fan above us groaned as it turned slowly, like it too was tired of this routine. I let my eyes scan the room. Desks were scattered with wrappers and books half-unpacked. Chalk dust floated through slanted sunlight. Everything looked familiar and slightly drained. Like we were all waiting for the real term to begin.

Just silence thick and shadows high. Then fingers cold as death’s caress Drag me down the hall—no less. My echo fades behind each scream, Where nightmare slips into twisted dreams. Damnation clings to every stone, And fear leaks out of every bone. Through seven gates I must descend, Where light and memory meet their end. Each time, a layer falls from grace— No praise remains, no soft embrace. My skin grows bare, my steps grow slow, Yet still I walk. I choose to go. Through shadow’s mouth, I drop like flame,

"This night is cold in the kingdom I can feel you fade away From the kitchen to the bathroom sink and Your steps keep me awake Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste I once was a man with dignity and grace Now I'm slippin' through the cracks of your cold embrace So please, please Could you find a way to let me down slowly? A little sympathy, I hope you can show me If you're leavin', baby, let me down slowly Cold skin, drag my feet on the tile As I'm walking down the corridor And I know we haven't talked in a while So I'm looking for an open door Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste

A sign on the door made it clear where this was. The Intensive Care Unit. It was so absurd that all I could feel was the heaviness in my heart. I lowered my head, turning away from all the eager faces. "Jason," I said quietly, "what's the point of all this?"

As the thought crossed my mind, my fingers unconsciously traced the scar on my neck. With a smile, I said, "Relax. I wouldn't hurt you. After all, I know what it's like to have a blade graze my throat." A flicker of guilt crossed Carter's eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. He looked at Michael and the others. "Enough talking. Light the candles!" With that, I knelt before Irwin's grave, silently whispering in my heart, "I didn't mean to be late, Irwin. Every cab I tried to catch today refused once they saw where I was going.

Rain came down hard, like a curtain of water, hitting the city streets. It felt like the sky was trying to wash everything away. Lucas ran, his head down, his shoes splashing in the wet, his jacket sticking to his skinny body. His chest hurt, and every breath he took was a gasping sound that seemed too loud in the quiet around him. The city was awake—bright lights blurred in the puddles, the low sound of cars somewhere far off, and the occasional distant wail of a siren—but to Lucas, it all felt fake, like a movie he wasn't part of.