I didn’t mean to cut so deep-
but the words came sharp,
and your silence bled.

Now I carry the guilt
like a dagger under the tongue,
metal-tasting,
too holy to throw away,
too cruel to forget.

If I could sew you whole
with my hands,
I would.

I smile like stained glass-
fractured, lit from behind,
but never whole.

No one hears the weeping
that happens beneath the bone.
It’s quieter that way.

I reach for you
out of habit,
and touch only the dust
where love used to live.

But the quiet we left behind
stays.
And stays.
And stays.

I wasn’t there
when you spilled your pain like holy wine,
offering yourself to silence,
but the silence did not take you.

You did not fall-
not into the dark abyss,
but back into light,
a reluctant resurrection.

I am still here,
spine bowed like prayer on the floor ,
heart burning like a candle
you forgot to blow out.


Come home,
when your hands remember our softness.
I’ll be waiting—
still yours,
still lit,
still aching.

Hold me like a weapon,
bite me like a sin,
and watch me burn—
because I’m yours,
wild and wanting,
and I want it—
every savage, filthy second.