I’m a million miles away,
but your breath is still in my lungs.
It clings.
Like smoke from a fire I didn’t start but kept feeding,
just to feel warm for a second.
I lie dreaming of another day,
one where I’m not a corpse wearing a smile,
one where my hands aren’t shaking from words you haven’t said yet.
Wishing I could be anywhere but here.
Wishing wasn’t a habit.
Wishing wasn’t a form of prayer.
Wishing didn’t hurt so much.

You’re apologizing.
Again.
Your voice—
a lullaby soaked in gasoline.
Another dumb mistake,
you say it like you lost your keys,
not like you broke me in half and made me thank you for it.
How many is that now?
It’s not like I’m keeping count—
I just etched them into my skin,
every sorry a fracture.
Every kiss a loaded gun.

I run my fingers through my hair.
Static clings, tension sings.
I am a sad statue in a lonely hallway,
forgotten by time,
remembered only by ghosts who whisper leave
but my feet are concrete,
my shadow is screaming.

The sun is rising.
Not poetic.
Not cinematic.
Just cruel.
Like a spotlight on a crime scene.
My reddened eyes fight to stay open,
not out of awe—
but fear.
Fear of what today might cost.
Sunrises are supposed to be beautiful.
This one just makes me sick.
Another day of walking on glass,
barefoot,
smiling.
Halfway there.
To gone?
To lost?
To dead?

Note to self:
Pack your shit.
Erase your name from the walls of my mind.
Rip down the photos,
burn the bed.
Silence the echo.
Silence it before it answers back.

Are you even listening?

You were the angel on my shoulder—
once.
Whispering sweet nothings that bloomed into rot.
Now you’re the devil in my ear,
and your voice has teeth.
You bite without warning.
You laugh while I bleed.
And I smile through it,
because love, right?

Love.
What a twisted myth.
Does your mind not hear what your mouth has said?
Because mine replays it at night,
over and over.
A chorus of knives.
Your rage—
simmering.
Your silence—
louder than a scream.
Your love—
a warzone with no exits.

You’re not worth dying for.
But I came close.
I dressed my sadness in pretty things so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable.
I drank your poison and called it wine.
We’ve fallen.
Not like feathers.
Like bodies from rooftops.
We can’t be saved.
Not all fires are meant to be extinguished.
Some are meant to burn the whole house down.

I’ll survive.
But not unchanged.
Not unscarred.
Every heartbeat is a battle cry.
Every breath—proof I endured.

This love—
was never love.
It was control wearing perfume.
It was gaslight disguised as candlelight.
It was hands that gripped too tight,
and words that bruised without touch.

Love is weird.
But this?

This love is fear.
This love is silence with a scream under it.
This love is shackles made of sugar.
This love is a mirror I’m afraid to look into.
This love is darkness with your name carved into it.
This love is violence.
And I’m done bleeding for it.