I am you and you are me-
a mirror split down the center,
cracked but still reflecting.
You call me monster.
I call you necessity.
Your hands stay clean
because mine are not.
Your sleep stays soft
because mine is sharp with sirens.
I learned how to swallow mercy
before it swallowed me.
Learned how to make my heart
a locked room
with no windows.
But sometimes-
when the noise dies down
and the smoke clears-
I see your face in mine.
Small.
Afraid.
Still hoping we’d be something better.
You think I don’t feel it-
the wrongness under my ribs-
a bruise no one can see.
I do.
Every villain is a version
that survived.
Every cruel word
a shield raised too late.
I am you and you are me-
and if I lay down the armor,
if I loosen my grip on the dark,
will you catch me-
or will we both fall?