I just had an epiphany—
I can never love another
and still love myself.
The two split me like fault lines,
pulling in opposite truths.

It’s either I let one go—
or lose the other.

The way I do things
gets knotted in translation.
My colours shift like a chameleon,
but in my mirror,
it’s just plain grey.

I’m human, I think—
but meticulous,
a mirror to your flame.
I give what I get,
nothing less.

You are not utensil,
or tool.
I’ll only use you
if you gave me no choice.

Still,
I’d rather melt my ice
than let it burn you.

Aloneness?
That's no stranger.
It’s the oldest room in my soul,
quiet, bare—
but safe.

Bland isn't always bad.
Sometimes, it's peace.
Sometimes, it's me.