Opossum's Antics

I’ve tasted truth beneath the milk;

It curdles sweet to something vile—

A poison poured in practiced smile.

You speak—

And every letter leaves your tongue

Like something sharp, precise, and young;

A blade that does not shout or warn,

But slides in slow… then twists the thorn.

And oh—

How clean you keep your hands from blame,

How softly you disown the pain;

As if the wound I wear tonight

Was self-inflicted out of spite.

But I—

I felt each syllable descend,

A kiss disguised, a traitor friend;

They lined my ribs, they found their place,

And built a home behind my face.

I drank you in—

Like holy wine,

Believed your venom must be mine;

For love, I thought, was meant to burn,

A lesson only fools don’t learn.

Now every breath—

It tastes of steel,

A bitter truth I cannot heal;

For once you’ve swallowed someone’s lies,

They echo loud where silence dies.

You say

I’ve never known what pain can be—

How fragile I must seem to thee…

But darling—

I have bled in quiet rooms,

I’ve learned the language spoken in wounds;

I’ve worn the ache you never see—

And called it love…until it tasted back at me.

Just quietly sat there thinking to myself every single time ive ever opened up and been vulnerable it has always been turned against me, weaponised and used to twist a the dagger to prove a point.

The amount of hours I spend alone fishing, sitting in the woods and riding my bike. Lost in my head and thoughts cause its easier to keep it to myself than let anyone else see it. Safer to keep them to myself than let anyone see a it.