I just want company I guess

After a great night

I’m alone again

Watching the stillness

Feeling the dark.

I feel it again

The pressure

The worry

The sadness that always returns

The moment everything stops.

Silence falls,

and the shadow looms again,

a cold hand on my shoulder,

reminding me it is here.

Darkness crawling through my mind,

tears building up.

Then I step

into the group of people.

The mask rises again,

tears leave my eyes,

And night falls lightly,

I look toward you,

Searching for your warmth.

You’re ready to give it,

But I can’t help myself

Feeling like I should Just try a blanket instead.

My hurt shouldn’t hurt you.

My tears shouldn’t dampen your shirt.

So I sit alone,

Letting the night seduce me.

And then you appear,

Hands around me,

Showing me

How warmth feels

Words carry clues

And the clues lead to answers

But what do the answers cover?

Feelings built up

Words shared

Answers given

But we never knew the question

The tears are falling

Yells are exchanged

But where are they falling from?

And what made the yelling begin?

The body was hidden

The body was found

A knife in the back

But the identity

Still unknown

We search through words

Like detectives in a storm

Collecting pieces

But the truth hides somewhere

Between what was said

I look at you, your hands open— I want to run toward you, but I know you cannot be trusted.

I know what you did, I know the veil you use to cover that smile, to hide the fact you don’t regret a thing.

You call me crying, telling me how the world has wronged you, how you’re the victim in all this— but behind the mask, I see it: that smile, the one I once missed.

I hate You, not because of what you are, but because you drag me back to myself, to the ghost I lost, the version I’ll never reclaim.

You are the mirror of that innocent soul, the one unscarred, before someone tore me open, before my flesh was buried beneath cold soil, before my body, soul, and bones were drenched in that black, sticky poison I cannot purge.

I hate you, not for what you are, but for what I am not.

Even when I mimic you, I still hate myself, still feel I’ve fallen short, haven’t sown what you sow, haven’t proven myself like you have.

I don’t hate you— I love you, I adore you, I want to be you.

I stumble through fiery pits, struggling to find my way toward the sun, without falling into its burning depths, consumed by the flames.

I’ve struggled for a while, yearning to see the moon, the moon that once felt like my own, the one I watched at night, wondering if someone lived up there.

Once, it was so easy, happiness waiting on every corner. Now, it slips past, a whisper fading as I sprint toward what might be.

Now, I run toward the future, forgetting to look at the present, rushing, running past the happiness, hoping it’s waiting for me there.

Today, I thought of you. For a heartbeat, I almost missed you, but then the ache flared, the a fire within, a reminder for what you had done. The same venom you once poured into me, now pulsing in my veins for you.

Your words were pitch, slick, black, coating the inside of my chest, smothering the light until even my bones felt unclean.

You left me to rot— alone, with only the stench of your absence to keep me company.

You took the knife I had given you and pierced it into the wound I once begged you to guard.

I thought you were kind. We built our trust like a bridge over beautiful waters, but now it hangs in ruin, steel twisted, cars dangling by their last cables, the river below, seems hungry for the fall.

"If you are reading this,

I will be gone."

The pages I read

Break me.

"If you are reading this,

I will have died.

I will have closed my eyes

And let the sky take me."

I read the letters you wrote for me—

A part of me still can't believe it,

But it feels so real now,

Every word sinking deeper into my hurt.

"I wrote this letter

Because I care about you."

If you really cared,

Why couldn't you have stayed?

I fought.

I stayed.

For you.

For us.

But now you're gone.

The pages you left behind

Sink into the table

As I read them for the twentieth time.

A part of me wishes you never wrote them.

Now I read them back,

Missing you—

I’m falling. You pushed me off the edge, just when my trust had grown strong enough to turn my back to you.

I felt your lips on mine, thinking this was the peak of us — that joy could stay, that we might live inside it forever.

But then reality struck, as I tumbled through the air, the knife still in your hand, already buried in my back.

The Thread

I sit in my room, eyes on the wall. Laughter spills from the living room— bright, pounding, like a world I used to live in.

Why can’t I be with them? Why doesn’t the joy reach me?

I tried. I sat with them for hours. But the connection flickered— gone, like a plug in my brain was missing. Like I was broken.

A silver thread lies on the table. I pick it up, trace it along my skin.

The cold makes me shiver— a short, sharp tremor.

Then the cold turns to heat, into pain. A burning sensation I had long longed for.

And for a moment— it’s the only thing I feel.

The warmth of absence

I lay there, the blanket's fluff rubbing my back,

your hands warm against my skin, your soul cold beneath the touch. Your breath brushes my shoulder, and my body stiffens.

We are safe

I lay in the cold, thin blades brushing my skin, ticklish, soothing.

I smell the moment: salty freshness, a mineral tang, damp stone.

The sea breathes against the shore, the wind combs its edges, this is where I feel calm.

Laughter rises behind me, children singing to the waves, and I know: this is where we are safe.

It’s getting bad again. The sun is out, but it doesn’t touch me the way it used to. The flowers bloom, but they look tired. Even the grass seems tired of trying to be green.

The love I held like light in my chest — flickered. The laughter that once wrapped around me now echoes like noise in an empty room.

I look at my phone, unsure who to call. The connections I thought I had feel suddenly far away.

I feel it again — the weight, pressing at my ankles, pulling me back into the slow, grey place.

You say you'd die for me,

but that's not what I need.

I’m not asking for a martyr,

or to become your battlefield.

I don’t want your death,

I just ask for your presence.

The courage to face what’s broken,

and the effort to truly listen.

I don’t want a grand sacrifice,

just the quiet act of listening,

the patience to mend what’s broken,

and the will to stay.

Don’t die for me,

live for us.

I don’t need you to fight a war for me,

This is my take on the prompt serendipity.

It was a starry night— how most stories start. Except this starry night was rainy: water leaked from every rooftop, slid down windows, shoes dragged through puddles with a tiny splat at every step.

This was the night I thought everything was over— the night I walked toward the water, with but one goal in mind.

I stepped into the stream but heard a drop— and turned around.

I was only looking at the water, imagining how it might feel on my skin, when I heard it: a rock, breaking the stillness.

That’s when I saw you on the other side, tossing stones into the deep, headphones in, lost in your world.

My mind is racing, begging me to get out of bed. But it's as if it’s disconnected from my body— my body won’t move.

I’m yelling at you to stop, except I’m only yelling in my mind. The words never reach my mouth. It’s like they’re disconnected.

I’m walking— except in my mind, I’m running. I try to run, run toward the person I love so deeply, but my feet won’t follow. They feel disconnected, frozen in place.