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scheherazade1Poems
i feel so small, a fading spark. i miss your voice that lit the dark. your eyes, they flickered, wouldn’t stay, always running, pulled away. i know that urge, that quiet flight, to dodge the mirror, dodge the light. i’ve run from names i used to wear, from thoughts that choke the silent air. this body feels like borrowed skin, a shell i never settled in. but then, your laugh, a fleeting flame, when i said something dumb, by name. you smiled, and for a breath or two, i almost felt like someone new. your gaze would trace me, soft and slow, like blinking once would let me go. you never touched, you held your breath, like love itself might summon death. or worse, that reaching out for me would turn a ghost to memory. we lived in almosts, nearly whole, a half-made bed, a tangled soul. almost loving, never quite, daydreams dying every night. and maybe you just stayed so still, afraid to fall, afraid to feel. but i have shattered, piece by piece you missed the cracks, you missed the crease. you weren’t looking. not enough. you called it love, but called my bluff. now i’m the echo, fading, done. still standing here. still on the run.
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Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 12:50 AM UTC
run 2
i feel so small, a fading spark. i miss your voice that lit the dark. your eyes, they flickered, wouldn’t stay, always running, pulled away. i know that urge, that quiet flight, to dodge the mirror, dodge the light. i’ve run from names i used to wear, from thoughts that choke the silent air. this body feels like borrowed skin, a shell i never settled in. but then, your laugh, a fleeting flame, when i said something dumb, by name. you smiled, and for a breath or two, i almost felt like someone new. your gaze would trace me, soft and slow, like blinking once would let me go. you never touched, you held your breath, like love itself might summon death. or worse, that reaching out for me would turn a ghost to memory. we lived in almosts, nearly whole, a half-made bed, a tangled soul. almost loving, never quite, daydreams dying every night. and maybe you just stayed so still, afraid to fall, afraid to feel. but i have shattered, piece by piece you missed the cracks, you missed the crease. you weren’t looking. not enough. you called it love, but called my bluff. now i’m the echo, fading, done. still standing here. still on the run.
Ironic 09/07/25
Written by
scheherazade1
18/F
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 12:50 AM UTC
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