you,
you get me.
like a cold whisper wrapped in chrome,
a sharp promise in a stranger’s home.
you don’t knock.
you don’t wait.
you slip in,
like silence disguised as fate.

you found me,
where ache sang loud,
where sleep ran dry,
where love and connection died,
and nothin' was allowed
but pain—
and the desire
to make it stop.

so I picked you up.
slammed hope down with the plunger,
felt the fire hum
as it rolled like thunder
through my veins—
and everything went
quiet.

and in that quiet,
he was there..
in the burn, the gasp for air,
his ghost pulled up a chair—
like we were finally real.
not just words.
not in time.
just this..
this ritual.
this ruin.

maybe it’s grief.
maybe it’s love.
maybe I miss him enough
to hurt myself to get close
just one last time.

you,
you see the real me.
no mask, no dilution,
raw, like nerve exposed.
you don’t judge.
you don’t speak.
you sink in deep.
you let me bleed.
you gave me peace.
you gave me space
to dream of some place
soft and slow—
between the devil and death's
kind relief—
anywhere but here.

you left tracks like poetry.
the monster stirred
but i didn't worry,
didn't breathe a word,
you brought me back,
for seconds at a time.
in that blur, in that high,
feel the pull from within the tide,
i sign the song of the the needle’s rhyme.

that’s the madness—
the comfort in staying sad.
found home in loneliness.
you aren’t the high.
you’re the hand that held it.
the lie
that knew I’d always sell it
to myself.
time and time again.

o needle,
you elegant reaper,
you plastic preacher,
you quiet sleeper,
you stitched a father
to his son
in blood—
not bond—
and called it love.

but I will reach again,
with my hands undone.
one more breath,
one more run,
still, every time I wonder,
if the needle’s already won.

dear future me,

i don’t really know why I’m writing,
except maybe I hope you're still listening.
today she left.
and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.
she smelled like smoke and sweet things
and something sharp I couldn’t name.

she said she’d be back soon.
grandma hugged me so tight,
I thought maybe she was saying goodbye for her.
but I smiled anyway.
because I still had that kind of hope.
the kind that doesn’t know better yet.

I feel something inside me trying to curl up and disappear.
but there’s another part of me
the part that wants to yell,
to make someone come back,
to ask, “was I not enough to stay for?”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
sometimes I laugh too hard just so I don’t cry.
sometimes I pretend I don’t care so no one asks.
but I do care.
I care a lot.

please don’t forget me.
don’t become so strong you stop feeling.
don’t cover me up with silence and call it healing.

whoever you are now,
i hope you still remember the sound of her leaving.
because it’s the only proof I have that I was here.

love,
me

I want to feel the day
from inside the end —
dreams, lips, god —
they are the past,
folded into light.

Memories sound so
different through
your ears,
like distant rivers
we once named hope.

The moon caressed
your cheek,
and I was once there,
a shadow caught
between breath and becoming.

Time unraveled
its silver thread,
tying our names
to the hush of stars.

We spoke in the language
of undone things,
our voices trembling
at the edge of always.

And in that stillness,
where all endings sing,
I felt the day
begin again
inside you.