So how can you call me a good man,
When I hate myself enough
To take my life,
to dismantle the architecture of my days
just to see if the noise finally stops.
You look at me and see something solid.
You hand me grace like it’s my birthright,
speaking of my kindness,
my steady hands.
But you don't hear the static in the quiet hours.
You don't feel the sheer exhaustion
of dragging this heavy shadow through the daylight,
pretending it belongs to someone else.
You call me good,
and I am left choking on the distance
between the hopeful reflection in your eyes
and the ruin in my own.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 11:29 PM UTC
So how can you call me a good man,
When I hate myself enough
To take my life,
to dismantle the architecture of my days
just to see if the noise finally stops.
You look at me and see something solid.
You hand me grace like it’s my birthright,
speaking of my kindness,
my steady hands.
But you don't hear the static in the quiet hours.
You don't feel the sheer exhaustion
of dragging this heavy shadow through the daylight,
pretending it belongs to someone else.
You call me good,
and I am left choking on the distance
between the hopeful reflection in your eyes
and the ruin in my own.
