this was not love. don’t call it that.

this was slow digestion. this was me breaking apart in your stomach acid while you smiled.

you held my hand as i fell and said, “see, look how much i care.”

// you let it rot

you watched me drown beside someone else and said “i choose you.”

you watched me bleed out next to your apathy and asked why i was always in pain.

you kept him in the room like a monument, and kissed me in the shadows like a sin.

// unholy

i was an angel when i met you. not soft. not pure. just full of light.

you extinguished it. slowly. you made me beg to stay burning.

you made me *love you* for every moment you didn’t throw me away.

// rage like a god

i hope it follows you. not my name—my silence.

i hope it haunts you how loud i screamed without saying a word.

i hope you rot in the grave you buried your honesty in.

i hope the taste of me never leaves your mouth, not even when you try to swallow someone else whole.

// grief has teeth

you fed me guilt and called it grace. you made me feel too much and said i was cruel for bleeding.

you loved me on your terms. and left me on mine.

do you know what that does to someone? to be left and blamed for it?

// the body remembers

my chest still aches like it’s waiting for you to return.

some nights i wake up with your hands in my throat and no air in my lungs.

i kissed your ghost last week by mistake. it tasted like metal and betrayal.

// i am done

i won’t be your ashtray anymore. i won’t be your ritual. your convenience. your half-truth.

this is not closure. this is not forgiveness. this is the sword you left in me, sharpened.

// this is my offering

i write this with my blood.

i cut open my chest and pour you out.

you do not live here anymore.