Let me burn gently
like letters forgotten beneath candlelight,
like ink left out with no compromise.
slowly curling into ash
while your name lingers in the fire.
We were never made for peace,
we were never made for glory.
You spoke in storms,
and I answered with thunder.
Every conversation became a battlefield,
a war never meant to be won,
a war never meant to be fought.
every silence a graveyard
where unsaid words rot like fallen kings.
I once believed love was holy.
A cathedral built from ribs and promises.
Now I know
it's merely war wearing white clothing.
Sheep in wolves clothing.
Still—
I opened my chest to you willingly.
Not because I was brave,
but because I was tired
of carrying my own heart alone.
Do you know what it feels like
to drown without water?
To choke on memories
that replay like rusted blades
dragging against skin?
To speak words without piercing
my own?
To act like a knight without
a sword?
At night,
the universe becomes unbearably loud.
Stars stare at me
like gods waiting for entertainment.
And I,
a foolish mortal,
keep writing poems
instead of learning how to heal.
Maybe pain is addictive.
Maybe sorrow tastes sweeter
when spoken beautifully.
Maybe written archaic pain is beauty.
Or maybe I just wanted someone
to read my ruins
and still call them home.
If someday I disappear,
do not search for me in heaven.
You will find me instead
between unfinished sentences,
inside the smoke of midnight cigarettes,
beneath the echoes of “I miss you”
that never truly left the room.
And if you must remember me,
remember this:
I loved you
with the violence of collapsing stars—
beautiful, burning,
and destined to destroy itself.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 6:14 AM UTC
Let me burn gently
like letters forgotten beneath candlelight,
like ink left out with no compromise.
slowly curling into ash
while your name lingers in the fire.
We were never made for peace,
we were never made for glory.
You spoke in storms,
and I answered with thunder.
Every conversation became a battlefield,
a war never meant to be won,
a war never meant to be fought.
every silence a graveyard
where unsaid words rot like fallen kings.
I once believed love was holy.
A cathedral built from ribs and promises.
Now I know
it's merely war wearing white clothing.
Sheep in wolves clothing.
Still—
I opened my chest to you willingly.
Not because I was brave,
but because I was tired
of carrying my own heart alone.
Do you know what it feels like
to drown without water?
To choke on memories
that replay like rusted blades
dragging against skin?
To speak words without piercing
my own?
To act like a knight without
a sword?
At night,
the universe becomes unbearably loud.
Stars stare at me
like gods waiting for entertainment.
And I,
a foolish mortal,
keep writing poems
instead of learning how to heal.
Maybe pain is addictive.
Maybe sorrow tastes sweeter
when spoken beautifully.
Maybe written archaic pain is beauty.
Or maybe I just wanted someone
to read my ruins
and still call them home.
If someday I disappear,
do not search for me in heaven.
You will find me instead
between unfinished sentences,
inside the smoke of midnight cigarettes,
beneath the echoes of “I miss you”
that never truly left the room.
And if you must remember me,
remember this:
I loved you
with the violence of collapsing stars—
beautiful, burning,
and destined to destroy itself.
