April eleven– ink drips slow,
veins in verses only I know,
angel aching, soft and sore,
knocking on a locked-before door.
Love or lust– same lips, new lie,
same low flame that learns to die.
I was eighteen, tender flame,
you were older– age or game?
Nine years stretched like silent blame,
calling fate what felt like shame.
“They’re too young,” the voices said–
I heard, you’re already dead.
You disappeared without goodbye,
no crash, no storm– just empty sky.
One day mine in maybe’s breath,
next day married– quiet death.
I hated time, I hated age,
a bird too young inside a cage.
We never touched, yet tangled tight,
texting through each stolen night,
words like wires, pulling skin–
love outside, but locked within.
Then came vows that weren’t for me,
a ring I’d never get to see.
2018– you chose your life,
I played the ghost, she played the wife.
I cut my hair to cut you out,
short strands screaming silent doubt,
but memory grows where scissors fail,
roots of you in every trail.
I dated faces, hollow frames,
kissed new mouths that said your name,
every laugh a borrowed tone,
every touch still felt alone.
Then you came– oh cruel repeat,
not for love, but incomplete.
“Find me someone,” you confessed–
funny how I fit that test.
Temporary, I would say,
but my heart don’t work that way.
You laughed it off– light and free,
but forever lived in me.
I would cage you in my chest,
call it love, call it rest,
call it wrong but call it mine–
blur the sin and blur the line.
“I should be her”– a foolish plea,
yet it sounded true to me.
You said your home was cold and bare,
but warmth was breathing everywhere–
children laughing, life in bloom,
yet you called it empty room.
Mistake, you said– your baby boy,
but mistakes don’t bring that joy.
I stayed, a hollow holding space,
a heart-shaped hole you’d still replace,
filled with hope, then drained again,
lover, stranger– both in one.
Twenty-one– my birthday night,
candles flickered, dimmed the light,
lies fell softly off my tongue–
“I’m with her,” but I was young.
Young and yours, or so I dreamed,
wrapped in warmth that felt like sin,
reading you like sacred skin–
holy wrong I let begin.
I didn’t sleep– I feared the end,
moments break, they never bend.
Morning kissed me blue and red,
silent proof of what we said,
I wished to carve it in my chest–
marks that whispered, I was blessed.
Was I fool or was I full?
Heavy heart, too beautiful.
Years collapsed, a fragile thread,
love alive but nearly dead,
twenty June– our quiet due,
ending something never true.
I left early– ran or healed?
even now it stays concealed.
Then I married– white disguise,
pure on paper, full of lies.
Shared a bed but split a soul,
played the part, but lost control.
Your name echoed, slipped, unsaid,
ghost between the sheets instead.
Faithful body, faithless mind,
left myself somewhere behind.
Then you came– again, again,
like a wound that won’t refrain.
Lonely met me where I break,
called it fate, but felt like ache.
We touched once– no love, no claim,
just a flicker, just a flame,
not quite wrong, not quite right–
just a shadow of that night.
Last time seen, last breath shared,
last illusion we both dared.
Then regret came dressed as truth,
“I used you”– a wasted proof.
No–
I let you.
Same soft word, but sharper blade,
choice or chance– both poorly made.
We still clicked– how cruel, how clean,
like a lock not meant to be seen,
wrong key turning anyway,
opening what shouldn’t stay.
You feared God but touched my skin,
counted sins but still gave in.
April thirty– you drew the line,
holy words, a late design.
I agreed– too calm, too still,
numbness dressed as iron will.
“No more texts”– what I meant was,
no more me for you because
you don’t stay, you only start,
then unravel what’s my heart.
You laughed– light, like nothing broke,
I went silent– choked on smoke.
Then I wrote my final line,
soft goodbye, no yours, no mine.
No more loops, no more pretend,
this is where I choose the end.
Blocked your name– but not your trace,
you still live in every place.
So I write you– one last song,
right and wrong both feel so wrong.
Was it love or just delay?
Was I yours or in the way?
If this ending sets me free–
why’s it feel like
you’re still
the beginning
of me?
♡ lil-usagi
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 2:57 PM UTC
April eleven– ink drips slow,
veins in verses only I know,
angel aching, soft and sore,
knocking on a locked-before door.
Love or lust– same lips, new lie,
same low flame that learns to die.
I was eighteen, tender flame,
you were older– age or game?
Nine years stretched like silent blame,
calling fate what felt like shame.
“They’re too young,” the voices said–
I heard, you’re already dead.
You disappeared without goodbye,
no crash, no storm– just empty sky.
One day mine in maybe’s breath,
next day married– quiet death.
I hated time, I hated age,
a bird too young inside a cage.
We never touched, yet tangled tight,
texting through each stolen night,
words like wires, pulling skin–
love outside, but locked within.
Then came vows that weren’t for me,
a ring I’d never get to see.
2018– you chose your life,
I played the ghost, she played the wife.
I cut my hair to cut you out,
short strands screaming silent doubt,
but memory grows where scissors fail,
roots of you in every trail.
I dated faces, hollow frames,
kissed new mouths that said your name,
every laugh a borrowed tone,
every touch still felt alone.
Then you came– oh cruel repeat,
not for love, but incomplete.
“Find me someone,” you confessed–
funny how I fit that test.
Temporary, I would say,
but my heart don’t work that way.
You laughed it off– light and free,
but forever lived in me.
I would cage you in my chest,
call it love, call it rest,
call it wrong but call it mine–
blur the sin and blur the line.
“I should be her”– a foolish plea,
yet it sounded true to me.
You said your home was cold and bare,
but warmth was breathing everywhere–
children laughing, life in bloom,
yet you called it empty room.
Mistake, you said– your baby boy,
but mistakes don’t bring that joy.
I stayed, a hollow holding space,
a heart-shaped hole you’d still replace,
filled with hope, then drained again,
lover, stranger– both in one.
Twenty-one– my birthday night,
candles flickered, dimmed the light,
lies fell softly off my tongue–
“I’m with her,” but I was young.
Young and yours, or so I dreamed,
wrapped in warmth that felt like sin,
reading you like sacred skin–
holy wrong I let begin.
I didn’t sleep– I feared the end,
moments break, they never bend.
Morning kissed me blue and red,
silent proof of what we said,
I wished to carve it in my chest–
marks that whispered, I was blessed.
Was I fool or was I full?
Heavy heart, too beautiful.
Years collapsed, a fragile thread,
love alive but nearly dead,
twenty June– our quiet due,
ending something never true.
I left early– ran or healed?
even now it stays concealed.
Then I married– white disguise,
pure on paper, full of lies.
Shared a bed but split a soul,
played the part, but lost control.
Your name echoed, slipped, unsaid,
ghost between the sheets instead.
Faithful body, faithless mind,
left myself somewhere behind.
Then you came– again, again,
like a wound that won’t refrain.
Lonely met me where I break,
called it fate, but felt like ache.
We touched once– no love, no claim,
just a flicker, just a flame,
not quite wrong, not quite right–
just a shadow of that night.
Last time seen, last breath shared,
last illusion we both dared.
Then regret came dressed as truth,
“I used you”– a wasted proof.
No–
I let you.
Same soft word, but sharper blade,
choice or chance– both poorly made.
We still clicked– how cruel, how clean,
like a lock not meant to be seen,
wrong key turning anyway,
opening what shouldn’t stay.
You feared God but touched my skin,
counted sins but still gave in.
April thirty– you drew the line,
holy words, a late design.
I agreed– too calm, too still,
numbness dressed as iron will.
“No more texts”– what I meant was,
no more me for you because
you don’t stay, you only start,
then unravel what’s my heart.
You laughed– light, like nothing broke,
I went silent– choked on smoke.
Then I wrote my final line,
soft goodbye, no yours, no mine.
No more loops, no more pretend,
this is where I choose the end.
Blocked your name– but not your trace,
you still live in every place.
So I write you– one last song,
right and wrong both feel so wrong.
Was it love or just delay?
Was I yours or in the way?
If this ending sets me free–
why’s it feel like
you’re still
the beginning
of me?
♡ lil-usagi
