Maybe if I stop
picking at the scab,
this wound will finally heal.
Except,
I don’t know how to,
it’s the only way
all this pain feels real.

-

I stand in a crowd,
it couldn’t be quieter.
Yet these empty walls,
they’re deafening.

-

When the doors closed
and you were gone,
life lost all meaning
for a split second.
Till I realised,
you shut me out
and walked on by,
like it was your
proudest moment.

-

The battlefield is empty.
There are no swords,
nor something meaningful
to fight for.
Yet somehow, this is worse.

-

I’m still standing on the bridge
you set ablaze.
There are no paths left,
just ashes.

-

The canvas is bleeding
and I can’t stop this ink.

-

I remember you once
told me you had a bad dream.
We were ending and it was
breaking you apart.
Now I wake up every day
to that reality.

-

Healing isn’t linear,
as they always say.
Except -
no one ever warns you
how trigger-friendly
that graph is.
One minute you think
the worst has passed.
And then you’re bulldozing
everything on your path.
Like a ticking time-bomb
that got set off
by a grain of sand.

-

How do you fight the
whirlwind in your mind?
I guess you let go
and sink in.

-

I don’t recognise myself,
funny how reflections
change.
Nor do you seem
like you before,
or was that always
the mirror’s taint?

-