I throw matches at bridges
just to watch them burn,
watch the flames lick the sky
and pretend the smoke doesn’t choke me.

It’s safer this way—
or so I tell myself.
I say I don’t need anyone,
I say it so many times,
it almost feels true.

But at night,
the silence creeps in,
curling around my ribs,
pressing against my lungs
until every breath is a battle.
I scroll through old messages,
draft apologies I’ll never send.
I wonder if they still think of me,
if they ever tried to understand
why I push until there’s no one
left to pull me back.

I stare at my own reflection
like it holds an answer
I’ve been running from.
I tell myself I don’t care.
I tell myself I’d do it all again.
But the echoes in this empty room
say otherwise.