A broken ego tossed down the drain, a humming echo of a past that still resonates, a heart that beats out of habit instead of will. Bandaids on bullet holes that won’t stop the bleeding. silence so dreadful, you can hear your right ear ringing. ill-fated love story. if you knew there was to be a car crash in the greatest ride of your life, would you still hop in? I stare at the wreckage. from a place I never thought I'd be standing. I see it differently now. It doesn’t matter because the ship was always meant to sink. Exiled from my dreams. It’s not that we are not good people, but good people hold knives too. Sometimes to protect us, sometimes pressed against the throat of the other. My therapist asked why I didn't realize the worst part. That we were in love. Palpable, sunken, driven, covered. In love. It was all around us. Love wove itself into every breath, every glance, every word we exchanged. Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance? You drove me to the edge but didn’t throw me off. If my heart was on your table, if my longings tied around your chest, if my prayers kept going to a wordless God—WHY. My therapist wants to know why I can’t accept the fact. You loved me once. In your own way. I did as well. But I can’t grasp the idea of it. Then, I’d have to explain why we fell out of it. I'd have to admit what we once splurged on, we lack now. It faded like the mist. Like everything does at the end. I told you in a poem once, I’m afraid of beautiful things. I fear them because I know they don’t last. everything in its prime has to wither. Winter comes, birds fly south, the most ardent love story ends in a poem abandoned mid-thought, lost before it can be finished. It’s not that I don’t want to write about you, I just don’t have the courage to. How did it end? We raced towards a goal that was non-existent. we fell off the edge of earth. We hugged so tight we deflated the dreams we were supposed to build. We carved apologies but not too deep so they didn’t demand change. Everything ends. there’s no prose to wrap it all up. Hurricanes dissipate, tornadoes settle. I am left standing in the eye of it all, unsure of how to uncurl my fists, how to stop waiting for a punch that won’t land, how to stop screaming at the void for a reason that will never come. Something is crawling out of my gut, a truth I’m not ready to face. Where were the clues? Where do I trace the string back to that first fracture in the glass that held all the promises we made? There’s a piece of the puzzle we created together that’s missing, there’s a rock at the bottom of the ocean heavy with all my secrets, there’s a wall on your side of town guarding your cowardice. a fortress you never let me breach. I’m, slowly, unlearning, our, dance. Through whispers, screams, howls, sighs, and the sinking feeling that we’re done. There’s a missing piece. I can’t reconnect the wires that make me.

[UNTITLED]

You didn’t notice how every room started sounding like goodbye
and me stepping into each, thinking you were calling me.
Like a ghost, summoned by its own delusion,
Because I dared to hope it wasn’t real.

There is a crater where we called home
I blew it up.
With a shaking hand from the weight of how bad we let things end.
I couldn’t stand the idea of 
four walls remembering us better than we remember each other.

So I tore the house down.
Wall by wall, frame by frame.
Each window showed me what we could have been.
but all doors... led nowhere.
I plucked petals from a dead flower,
pretending the ending was ever in my control.

Two soldiers in a war without a name,
A battle we could never translate.

You think I don’t hurt because I left,
how do I put in words my heart is gnawing at my chest?
trying to find a way back to something buried a while ago.

Every love song we liked
crawls into my skin in the dead of night
Like your hands did when reaching
for one last hug.
When you swore you’d never leave.

Your cowardice put a noose in my throat.
it gets tighter
every time you don’t call.
Now all defeats taste like your absence.
Forever living in a month by your name.
I cannot look at my hands.

And you still don’t see it,

July. 

1, 2025

A Bad Swirl / Bad Joke

August 25, 2025

After 10 months playing chess with my feelings, a swirl of emotions I kept rearranging, the truth is coming to the surface. I thought that if I aligned my chakras, finished the puzzle of our demise, and found just the right words... I’d level up and erase the bad joke that it was to love you.

Sadly, after ashes settled and new friends became acquaintances I don't plan to keep, I realized:

 You said things you never meant. You loved me but didn’t actually want to do something about it. You liked my shine only when it lit you up. That you need everyone else’s approval to convince yourself I was enough. Do you know what that does to a person? It makes them claw at their own skin, searching for a light that's gone, wondering if they ever had it to begin with.

So I left, moved cities, started over, filled my days with work, noise and new friends, anything to make me forget but the seat across the table at the café, is still empty on Sundays and my laughter only lasts half as long as it did when you were the one calling it out of me. My life is full but I am empty and that emptiness is shaped exactly like you.

I thought leaving would cauterize the wound but healing smells like burning flesh. I thought reasons and excuses would set me free, but all they did was wrap the cage in prettier words.

Nowadays, my silence has grown teeth. I saw it first, when you shook your head at my eyes, looking for more of the spark you'd already taken: I became a punchline, of a really bad, bad joke. You said I love you, it felt like a punch. I walked through glass, moved as a corpse.

At some point I tried tearing the pain out by the root. Even if I had to pluck strand by strand the heartache but it was like guessing which cord to cut on a ticking bomb. Chaos everywhere. I desperately, wanted, to rip my heart out of its ribcage, pretend that work is satisfying, my new friends are thrilling, and that alone would make life worth living...

I got away

With everything.

But no one told me the emptiness would swallow my life whole. It wasn’t just the coffee table, it was my jokes, my laughter, my will… Nobody warned me what would happen next. They just said I deserved the best. No one told me I’d birthed another version of me, unwittingly, settling into a life I never dreamt of. I never dodged you, I carry you, lodged in my body somewhere.

it has been almost a year, and the bad feeling keeps kicking my gut, rotting at the center of me. 

Yet no one sees it. No one warns you that grief this ugly wears makeup well. That you can sit across from someone, order another coffee, smile, and inside your chest there is still a fucking battlefield.

Now that the bad joke is told, i don't see anyone laughing...

Except, maybe you.

This Speaks Volumes, If You Want to Hear It

 

Our course shifted that May night,
 something I didn’t want to admit—until it was too late.
 My gut touched my shoulder,
 whispered to change paths
 before the road disappeared beneath me.

I was young. I was scared.
 You had been my identity for so long,
 I wasn’t sure where I ended and you began.

You say I left.
 I say you did too.

Somewhere between the swallowed screams,
 nights we survived on ideals,
 at the verge of tears
 when truth pressed too close to my bruises...
 I should’ve left while I still had it in me.

I searched for signs
 in green buses, in stars,
 in the silence you wrapped around us
 like a coat we didn’t dare take off.

Hoping it wasn’t real.

Somehow, I lack the words to speak.
 That’s why I haven’t yet.
 The language I am
 is foreign.

But maybe just once
 let this reach you:

I would trade my ribs for one last hug.

Your silence burrows under my skin,
 settles in the hollows of my bones.´

I spend my days in analogies,
 weaving meaning into every stanza,
 believing
 that something new 
must be born 
out of the wreckage.

 a map from a war
 I haven’t woken up from.

4/4, 2025

Main Thing

Here I stand
before weary faces.
A jury, waiting for closure.

They’ve all heard it before

.

I tell it once more,
but not in full.
Not the main thing
That would leave the room

silent.

My voice shakes
Not from fear,
not from grief
but from bending words
so they won't cut too deep.

I clear my throat,

and try again
to make them understand:

How I was hurt.
How I hurt in return.
How neither of us
walked away with clean hands.

But my voice dilutes in tears,
and I feel their exhaustion
Settle on my skin.

They don't want another retelling,

They want a conclusion.

But all I have are questions
knotted in my throat
like a swallowed scream.

Somehow,

I know the ending like muscle memory:

How my hands always knew
where to reach for you in the dark,
even when you weren’t reaching back...

But knowing is different
from accepting

what was fated from the start.

I am still looking for words

that won't make my gums bleed.

So I retrace the string,
tugging gently
at the edges of the past.

I search from the beginning:

The first time I chose silence
instead of asking questions
I didn’t want the answer to.

And yet
every time I get close,
the world tilts,

My gut twists,
My sight blackens
the way it does

before impact,
before something inside me
decides it would rather
not remember after all.

Each time I go back

the past sharpens,
details surface

like ink in water.

I see it clearer
than I want to,

How I turned 

waiting into devotion.

Still I replay

a skipping record

needle scratching

over the same old wound

a jagged ache

spelling out:

JULY. 

Finally, the jury asks "How did it end?"

I cannot say yet.

April 1st, 2025

A Pseudonym For Love.

A home that never learned my name,
I reached the shore just as the tide pulled away.
Loneliness disguised as freedom,
Your hands stained red with promises 
you couldn’t keep.
 
Uncertainty spoken to the deaf,
A language lost on a foreigner.
Running from myself, but the mirror grabs me by the throat.
Hiding in the rearview.
I thought I saw an angel, but… never mind.
 
Burned the letters but held the ashes in my mouth,
An I love you stuck in my throat.
A poem abandoned mid-thought,
Praying to a wordless God.
 
I ran from love for as long as I could
Until it knocked on my doorstep
In the ghost of you.
And I knew
It was time to pay my dues.
 
But I grew tired.
Tired of believing
In the conspiracy theory
That you’d grow a backbone
out of my patience.
Tired of whispers echoing
Phrases we once spoke
In our secret language.
 
I am tired 
of heartbreak,
And lovers
Who slammed the door so hard 
all pictures were shaking.
 
Another thing I ruined.
A bridge leading nowhere,
A garden where nothing blooms,
A compass that only spins
Because I lost your North.
Some doors lock from the other side.
 
I whisper into the void,
Does he love me?
but the echo spits back
Do you?
The last petal always lands on no,
No matter how many flowers I pull.
 
You left me as you found me.
Writing long-lost love letters
To all who abandoned me.
Only now, my scars scream your name.
 
Sadly, you realized:
The bridge trembles because I step on it.
The ship sank in sight of land.
And everything I’ve ever loved
Ends up bleeding poetry.
 
A pseudonym for love.
I stepped on the deck as the ship sailed away,
Hands on a map to a place that no longer exists.
Saving my last breath for a conversation that already ended.
 
I’m always a day late and a dollar short,
For everything meant for me.
 
Loving you was a maze,
I didn’t come out the same.
Some things are best kept buried,
I learned that the hard way.
 
A language neither of us speaks anymore.
Love letters collecting dust in a drawer of regret.
Your ghost still knocking at the door,
In a house I don’t live in anymore.
 
I live by a calendar of eleven months,
A year only 334-days long.
No more Julys to come.

And everything in our love’s field
Became landmine I don’t dare to cross.

February 14, 2025.