I hate your touch
I hate your words
I hate your hands
I hate your chords

The music was blinding
I hated that too
The passion was frightening
I hated that you

Tried taking advantage
Of naivety
I hated it
Hated that

Your touch scares me
Your words scare me
Your hands scare me
Your chords scare me

I hate your face
I hate your mouth
I hate your stance
I hate your sound

The music was crying
I hated that too
The passion was dying
I hated that you

Tried laying blame on
My comfortability
I hated it
Hated that

Your face scares me
Your mouth scares me
Your stance scares me
Your sound scares me

I’m scared of all
You say and do
I’m scared of you
And I hate your you.

You’re such a greedy lover when
You’re lovin her
Holdin her down
Stealin her crown
And power
Deflowerin every flower
When you devour
From your tower
And hour after
Hour after
Hour after
While you cower and
Cower and
Cower and

You’re showerin her with kisses
After missin her
Hidin away
Sayin you can’t stay
And pray
‘Bout preyin on every prey
That you lay
Without a place
Out of place out of
Leaving without a trace a
Trace a
Trace a
Of your face
In her space

You’re a disgrace for tryin be
Graceful
It’s distasteful
You say you gotta face full
of “empathy”
Say you have “emotional telepathy”
Work with me
Can’t you see?
Hour after
Hour after
Hour glasses
Are what you need
She’s not free
From your greed
And
You’re a greedy lover when
You’re lovin her

I pull up grass and feel guilty about it
I know it’s not bad.
So why can’t I stop?
The blade just keeps looking up at me
“Why did you do it again?”
“It hurts”

There’s scars on the yard from the last times
It’s fine.
I’ll water it when I feel better
So why can’t I stop?
The silver just keeps looking at me
“Why’d you do it again?”
“It hurt”

I pull up the grass and feel guilty about cuts
The lawn will grow back
I cover up my arms and legs
The ground is barren and mowed to dirt
So why can’t I stop?
The blade stares
“Again?”
“…”

The feelings are all too familiar
Rough couches
Brown so bright it’s orange
So cold it burns
So soft it cuts my skin
I can’t recognize it
The feelings are all too familiar

And I’ll cry harder when they return
You fill my heart with hatred
Hate for you
Hate for how I feel
My feelings of hate
Hate themselves too

And the feelings are textile
And the feelings are nauseating
You filled my head with tears
That you got high off of
B*tch

You stayed.
Through lies that burned like acid in your veins,
through the silence that felt louder than any fight,
you stayed.
Because love, when it’s real, isn’t supposed to break,
isn’t supposed to twist itself into something cruel.
And yet, it did.

You stayed.
Even when the truth sliced through you,
when every corner of your mind whispered, leave.
You stayed.

Not because you were weak,
but because you loved so fiercely it destroyed you.
You thought if you held on tighter,
if you poured yourself into his hollow promises,
maybe—just maybe—
you’d be enough to fix what was already broken.

But love should never feel like drowning.
Never feel like chains tightening around your chest.
It isn’t supposed to leave you picking up pieces of yourself from the floor.

He cheated— not just on you,
but on your trust you handed him so freely, on the innocence you never thought he’d betray.
and still, you stayed—
because leaving felt like giving up on everything you thought you’d built together.

And that’s the part no one understands:
How staying wasn’t easier—it was killing you slowly.
How leaving felt like sawing off a limb,
because he had buried himself so deep in you
that ripping him out meant bleeding.

And when you left,
you weren’t walking out of love—
you were clawing your way out of the wreckage.
You left pieces of yourself in that ruin,
parts of you that begged to stay,
that whispered:
What if this time he changes?
But you silenced them.
Because staying wasn’t love anymore—it was survival.

For a while, you hated him.
The taste of his name was bile in your throat,
his face a shadow you couldn’t escape.
But hate is like a wildfire,
and you were already ash.

So you let it go.
Now, when you think of him,
you don’t burn anymore.
You don’t cry.
You only feel pity—
for a man too hollow
to know what love is,
too lost to see the beauty
he threw away.

Now, you carry the echoes of those days.
The doubt, the guilt, the questions that won’t leave.
But there’s also this:
The strength it took to leave,
to burn down the life you thought was yours,
to walk into the unknown with nothing but yourself.

Now, the scars ache, don’t they?
Not just from all that he did,
but from what you let yourself endure.

And every time you close your eyes,
you see the naive girl who stayed—
the one who thought love meant sacrifice,
the one who didn’t know her worth.

But listen to me:
You were not foolish for loving.
You were not weak for trying.
You are a warrior for leaving.

He didn’t break you.
You tore yourself out of the cycle
before it swallowed you whole.
You chose pain over numbness,
You chose the heartbreak that shattered you into pieces,
because staying meant abandoning yourself entirely.

You chose to feel every jagged edge of leaving,
every sob that racked your chest at midnight,
every moment of questioning
if love was supposed to feel like dying a little every day.

And even though walking away
felt like peeling your own skin, layer by layer,
you knew—
you knew—
that pain was the only path to freedom.

And now, you walk forward,
carrying the weight of what was lost,
and the quiet, unyielding strength of what you reclaimed.

And maybe one day,
when the scars ache a little less,
you’ll see it for what it was—
not a loss, but a reclaiming.
Not the end of love,
but the beginning of finding it again—
this time, where it feels like home.

You called it friendship.
But it wasn’t friendship, was it?
Not when you held my heart in your hands,
a fragile, trembling thing—
and you squeezed,
just enough to feel it crack,
just enough to keep me begging for air.

Every glance was an anchor.
Every word, a trap.
You weren’t careless—
you were calculated.
You gave just enough to keep me alive,
just enough to make me believe
that maybe I could matter to someone.
But not to you.
Never to you.

You wanted the devotion,
but not the responsibility.
The love,
but not the weight of it.
You pulled the strings,
watched me twist,
and when I shattered,
you stood back,
arms crossed,
and blamed me for breaking.

Because I was never the destination.
I was just another trophy for your shelf,
another fragile soul to notch on your belt.
You smiled like you’d won,
like breaking me was your masterpiece,
while I drowned in the weight
of never being enough for you.

You flirted like it was a game,
like hearts were trophies
you could collect and discard.
But when the cracks in your mask showed,
when the truth of your manipulation
became too hard to hide,
you turned on me.
You called me needy.
You called me too much.
You made me question my sanity
for believing the lies you whispered
like the truth.

And God, how you made me want you.
Like a starving man chasing crumbs,
I followed,
grateful for the scraps
that fell from your careless hands.
I swallowed your indifference like poison,
and called it love.

I wasn’t your victim,
not in your mind.
No, you made me your villain—
a desperate fool who wanted too much,
when all you were offering
was the hollow shell of companionship.
But you didn’t just offer friendship.
You dangled love in front of me
like a prize I could earn
if only I tried hard enough.

And when I reached out,
when I dared to hope,
you recoiled—
not out of surprise,
but out of calculated cruelty.
As if the problem wasn’t your lies,
but my belief in them.

You manipulated my heart
like it was an instrument
you could play to your tune.
You twisted my feelings,
turned my trust into a weapon
and aimed it straight at me.
And when I fell,
you didn’t even look back.
You just walked away,
leaving me to choke
on the blame you shoved down my throat.

You made me feel
like I was never enough—
not for you,
not for anyone.
You left me staring at my own reflection,
wondering what was so broken in me
that I could never be loved.
You turned my kindness into a flaw,
my vulnerability into a weakness,
and my love into something shameful.

And the cruelest part?
You knew.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You dangled yourself
just close enough to taste,
but never enough to hold.
You made me feel like a child
chasing shadows—
a game I couldn’t win.

And I—
I was the fool who stayed,
who waited,
who let your breadcrumbs lead me
to this jagged edge.

And now, here I am,
clinging to the ledge of who I used to be,
on the edge where you left me,
the wind ripping through my chest,
the rocks below calling my name.
Because for a moment,
just one agonizing moment,
it feels easier to fall—
to let go, to end the ache you left behind—
than to keep living
in a world where you exist,
untouched by the wreckage you caused.

Because you left me with nothing—
not even myself.

But here’s the truth you’ll probably never face:
You were the broken one.
You used people to fill the void inside you,
and when they got too close,
you shoved them into the fire
and called it their fault for burning.
You built a life
on the ashes of the hearts you destroyed,
and you smiled like you won.

But one day,
the mirrors will crack.
The lies will catch up to you.
And when you’re standing alone,
wondering why no one stays,
you’ll remember me.
Not as the fool who loved you,
but as the one who climbed back onto the cliff,
not because I wasn’t enough,
but because I was too much for your hollow hands to hold.

And you’ll finally understand:
You didn’t win.
You never did.
You only thought you did
because I let you.

you didn’t destroy me.
The only thing you destroyed
was the illusion
that you were ever worth it.

And even if I’m still bleeding,
even if my hands are torn raw
from clawing my way back
to the ledge you let me fall from,
I’ll heal.
I’ll rebuild.
I’ll become something
you’ll never understand—
whole, without you.