My knees are grazed.
Not from clumsiness.
From crawling.
From begging the floor to hold me
when no one else would.
From praying to a God
who won’t even look me in the eye anymore.

There’s cancer in my brain.
Not medical.
Metaphorical.
It’s you.
It’s every “I love you” you never meant,
growing like rot in the corners of my skull.
It’s every lie that sounded like a promise
until I swallowed it and choked.

I’m alone this holiday.
No tree.
No lights.
No laughter through the walls.
Just the sound of my own breath —
ragged,
like even my lungs are trying to leave.

Tonight’s the night.
And I don’t mean confetti and countdowns.
I mean the end.
I mean letting go the only way that sticks.

Took a bus ride through nowhere.
Told the driver,
“My love’s for sale.“
He didn’t even blink.
Like he’s heard it before —
another ghost
trying to trade something too broken to pawn.

You took everything.
Stripped me down to splinters.
Tore out the soft parts,
left me with noise in my chest
where a heartbeat used to live.

Left me for dead.
And I laid there.
Let the silence blanket me.
Built a monument out of my own ribs
and called it peace.

I’ve been sentenced to life
inside this body that hates me.
Tried to rip it off,
but it clings.
Like your memory.
Like grief with teeth.

Nothing shines anymore.
Even the stars flicker like they’re about to give up.
The moon?
She won’t even look me in the face.

I hit the floor.
Not poetic.
Not graceful.
Just gravity,
and truth,
and pain that doesn’t rhyme.

No one beside me.
No hand,
no witness,
not even the sound of you
saying my name in that way that used to anchor me.
Now it’s just silence.
Heavy.
Final.

So bury me.
Not with roses.
Not with tears.
Bury me in every word you never said.
In every night you didn’t come back.
In the silence you served
like a sentence I never earned.

Bury me deep.
So deep the sun forgets me.
So deep the worms turn the other way.
So deep the past can’t dig me back up
to wear me like guilt.

Bury me deep
so I don’t become
the nightmare
you absolutely deserve.