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Who I am is not so easily revealed ... You’ve found me between the folds of verse — in the breath before a confession, in the silence after a kiss never given. I am Noir Synn, a name chosen like a secret kept under the skin — soft to say, but never simple to understand.
This is not a place for polished perfection. It’s for the beautifully broken, the romantically ruined — for those who ache quietly and love loudly in their minds. I write for the moments you don’t admit to others. For the stare that lingers too long. For the lover you dream of touching, but never dare call. For the hunger that makes you feel alive and almost ashamed.
My words are not always kind, but they are always honest. They whisper like lace falling from a shoulder, but cut like glass beneath bare feet. Sometimes, I romanticize pain. Sometimes, I mourn passion. Sometimes, I write things I shouldn't say aloud — but you’ll read them anyway, and wonder if they were meant just for you.
I am a storm in slow motion. A velvet shadow. A lover and a loner, threading desire through darkness, one poem at a time.
If you came here looking for answers — you may not find them. But if you came looking for a reflection of the ache inside you… then darling, you’re exactly where you belong.🌹
Why does she write?
Because softness isn’t weakness.
Because heartbreak taught her how to hold a pen.
Because sometimes silence needs a scream dressed in silk.
She writes because there are parts of her that only survive in stanzas.
Because the body remembers what the mouth forgets.
Because poetry is the only way she knows how to bleed beautifully.🌹
Welcome to the world of Noir Synn ...
Where every poem is a pulse in the dark — tender, aching, and unafraid to bleed. These verses are not written for the faint of heart. They are confessions dressed in lace and shadow, stitched from sleepless nights and the echoes of what could’ve been. Here, love is never simple — it tempts, it haunts, it lingers long after the last word. If you’ve found yourself here, perhaps you, too, are searching for beauty in the ruin.
"She writes like a wound that still remembers the flame."
— Noir Synn.