#detachment
Do I know you?
Do I show you?
Like a child born blind.
That does not understand sight
or see.
I do not understand you: Yet
I know your absence.
Raziel Vale
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 1:45 PM UTC
I reached for you with open skin,
Your thorns, they find their way within.
I bled for love, I thought I should,
But pain was not a sign of good.
I wear my gloves, not out of spite,
But so I love you from what's right.
Not out of fear, or pride, or war,
But to be hurt no less, no more.
I prune with care, I guard my soul,
For love that's real won't take it soul.
I tend, I stay, but I don't break.
I give you space for your own sake.
And if thorns still pierce me through,
I will step back , not to punish you.
I will honor both our need to grow,
And love you more from far than close.
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 12:14 PM UTC
Silence
Is not the healing
That we needed
Distance
Does not repair
The damage we did
Detachment
Only delays
What we're feeling
We are doing everything
Except
Fixing what we've lost
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 11:00 AM UTC
I have the ability to hear them talk—
Though only whispers reach this far.
Through this window I watch the show,
Their acting well— but with some flaws—
I hear the joy… but I can’t relate.
Behind this tinted window pane—
I watched myself neglect my life.
Bonds aren’t made through sheets of glass—
There’s beauty there… through the red sheets.
I felt their warmth— but not their soul.
I made myself a cage of glass—
Just off stage behind the mass.
To perform my part without a lines.
A role in films of better times.
My life became a silent score.
Or— are my views misconstrued.
Was my life was twisted from the past.
Has this darkness spread too far—
Why fool yourself once again?
Say the words within your heart.
I understand each spoken word.
I’ve heard their rants— they never worked.
Countless times I heard them say:
“Don’t waste your time on pointless days.”
That’s when I lost the words I never say.
I watch myself through broken glass—
Who’s the one that stares back now?
I do not recognize those pairs of eyes.
Clouded, empty… void of self.
Who’s in control— the actor, or me?
The cage I built with stained red glass.
To hide myself from the my past.
I felt this darkness long ago—
For reasons still— I do not know.
My story passed without a word.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 12:00 AM UTC
Above the people,
on different streets,
I walk.
My streets are white
and soft, and
they aren't crowded.
Instead of people,
there are fantasies,
creatures and dreams.
I walk on clouds,
not caring for
mundane rain.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 11:14 AM UTC
My head is heavy
Lifting up
And floating is my soul.
The nights been long
Just like the texts
I send so long ago.
And while you're resting
Eyes closed shut
I'm picturing you whole.
And while you sat
And stayed a while
I've just wanted to go.
And I here I am
At 3am
And writing you a poem.
The words never made sense to you
But I just keep on going.
So take my words
God take my all
But you're laying below him.
And you never belonged to me
So we'll just keep on flowing.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 10:56 PM UTC
Those small moments of life,
those brief glimpses -
whose life is it?
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 10:16 AM UTC
I walk
with a dead body,
I laugh
with dead eyes,
I think
with an empty room,
I feel
with a still heart,
I hurt
with an old, grey soul,
that's forgotten life.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 11:18 AM UTC
You used to point out wedding dresses,
When we'd walk in the mall,
Showing me ones you'd like,
You used to listen to me rant about my past,
And tell me how my thousand dollar class ring would never be the most expensive ring I ever own,
You used to hold my hand when I got anxious,
Be a calming point of contact whenever I'd have panic attacks,
Say such romantic things,
Like how "life isn't worth living without you",
And I don't think I'll ever understand how you can go from looking at someone with such love in your eyes,
To breaking up with them the very next day,
I sobbed until there were no tears left to cry,
The best four months of my life ruined by a simple phone call,
I was honestly shocked when you still wanted to be friends,
Because everyone I've ever loved has always left,
And sometimes I think it would've been better if you had,
Because this clinical detachment you've formed,
Feels so much worse than that,
Now you don't tell me to not be sorry for things,
You still send tiktoks, just not the cute ones you used to,
You aren't concerned when you see a snap of my sad eyes,
Hell you even text me different now,
I dont know what the dynamic is supposed to be,
How can you go from loving so deeply,
To not loving at all,
That **** clinical detachment,
It's like I've lost you but I'm still haunted by the ghost of you,
And you're not the same.
Jan 25
Jan 25, 2026 at 8:31 AM UTC
On the big news screens,
dead people are not taboo --
They are just pixels.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 3:51 AM UTC
**** my senses through my vices
Ill never taste that silver lining
Staring out the window unable to hear you anymore
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC
Never smelled a love,
Not even from a thousand yards.
I hid it in the quiet part of me,
ashamed to see it on a paper,
yet I barely feel any guilt at all.
The sun is nearly gone,
and only the cold moon stays with me.
Not angry, not happy, not surprised—
just one long, numb face I can’t quite fix.
Here comes the wounded owl,
and the long, dull night waits for my surrender.
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 12:32 PM UTC
He shaved his hair.
Claims no ownership
To what’s gone
While he proudly strokes
What’s left curled up
Above his lips.
“No, I will not shave it
Or share it with anyone.
Definitely not
With a bowl of soup.”
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 1:06 AM UTC
I have taken many lovers
Both men and women
Each boasts a fragrance
that tells of its history
Each one was said farewell
Bodies mean nothing
In eternities shadow
acceptance solemn I dwell
It is said, two infinites
May not exist
Yet I've intertwined with many
Without a fleeting hitch
Never did they know
They were spirits with worth
Infinite at that,
At their spirits birth
Man or woman
Beauty beyond measure
Bound tight for each moment
Passed in everlasting pleasure
The only regret was that
Change does not infinity take
All souls the same in their way
And such pursuit, engaged in disway
And watching them go,
til the next one crossed
I could never tell them
What potential they boast
I have walked with angels,
On the crest of the cosmos
For a moments shine
Love I’ve shared with souls
Was greatly divine
Think not I will forget,
In eternity spent,
In the love that is mine
Nov 15, 2025
Nov 15, 2025 at 10:22 PM UTC
from these rain-ridden pebbles on a sorry alleyway
had come the hoarfrost of tree boughs...
and these frore hands, so rigorous, so needlessly skilled--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
the sun kissed fleece and logs,
reflected on caspian dark glass...
perhaps i dream of the eventide moon,
tasting the last fruit of gravity--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
i sent the doves with letters,
three or four, indeed...
but they came back with nothing.
the only excuse i’ll pardon
is instantaneous decease upon reading.
these things you murmured of,
are they faithful to your hands alone?
should you return to the ground,
i’ll share my condolences with the soil.
if not,
consider this the final act of recognition.
on the ledger of you,
i will stop trampling these pointless logs,
and give the rocks some shade for once...
but, please be alive… let me know…
this is not me…
and these hands are good for something else, too…
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
shadows of a moving sky
sweep dull
swab at the city
smear high rises flat
pat fleeing humans into charcoal smudges
knock churches to incoherent brail
the weather does a half-arsed job
like a child experimenting with destruction
bored dabbing at us
and our inconvenienced colony
whilst lives take a number
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 1:57 PM UTC
She keeps asking what he does,
though his answers are recycled:
French bulldogs, paintball,
a seventh-grade broken nose.
The basket of fries between them
feels like an interview.
She teases about sweat-stuck bangs,
neon-laced Docs,
his faux leather squeaking when he moves.
Her smile forgives empty stories,
softens each silence.
Condensation slips down her glass,
her knee brushes his,
a spark he does not catch,
his throat working like a valve.
The door opens, closes,
a draft carries smoke and cedar.
distant wildfires.
Outside, a truck unloads shrimp.
A box bursts on the pavement,
pink shells and thawing ice
sliding into gutter water.
Curses flare into the alley.
Engines idle.
Hydraulics hiss.
The stoplight clicks red to green,
green to red,
its metronome louder than either of them.
Somewhere past Brockway Summit
a ridgeline blooms orange.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
I am old, I am
quietly watching the world --
Only now, it's mine.
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 3:16 AM UTC
It feels unfair ,
How you never noticed
The nights i cried myself to sleep.
Or maybe you did -
and just never showed it
Then you came back
right after I had learned to move on.
You can't be serious -
after I moved on
do you know how cruel that is?
you will never understand
the weight my heart carried.
Now even the thought of you
turns bitter in my chest.
And can you really blame me?
I once believed in holding on ,
but life taught me otherwise.
I never thought
detachment would feel like this.
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 2:03 PM UTC
I do hear you, but
there is a boundary
Why should I let you in
with your urgent desires?
First, show me
what you're worth and maybe
I'll give you a passport
And even then
first there is the waiting room
It is my life you know!
I won't be spun in
by the sticky silk
of your feelings
and it certainly wouldn't help you
to start nagging or tickling
You can't enforce love
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
but what if the one to envision it is blind?
i could approach you with a clean slate
i always do—writing things on a white screen—
except the older the ink, the harder for it to be removed.
visions of you in my head—just not anyone could write over.
and if they try—if i hear things again and again—every time,
it's written over and over and over
until i do not have any clean slate for you, any longer.
actions so cheap, the best of ink fails to meet my expectations.
perhaps there are too many,
but what do i do
when you tend to perform in disguise
every time you see someone come around?
i slip in the lows of being unhinged almost,
the gates of emotional purgatory open to welcome me aboard.
it's tiring—i'm drained.
speaking it in metaphor, trying to paint over.
it brings me to wonder:
_just how long do i play pretend?_
been wrung dry of trust,
perspective from the third person
who stands in the rubble of ghosted flirtations,
half-friendships built on the foundation of lies.
expected nothing,
but the hope still flows—
straight to my river of misery,
now reeking shades of disappointment.
got lesser and lesser,
and now it's barely there.
this is my final letter,
a sigh of resignation—
hopefully the scientific dissection of this feeling that i entertain:
of the almosts,
weird hope-hangovers,
and all the games
that weren't even mine to begin with.
to name it is difficult—
perhaps it's the hope fatigue,
the burn of being ghosted,
or a nostalgia born from detached attachment.
i mourn for things that weren't real.
hungover from fake bonds,
relying on remnants of connections
that echoed in fallouts.
i asked ai—what do i name this feeling?
in my own words, it replied:
_choose your favourite color and give it to this burnout._
_grey—_
in the middle of extremes,
where hope lay on one end,
ache at the other.
the rope stretched thin.
my being glitches—
a breath, every failed text,
trying to match up the vibe.
i feel like i've fallen in between the lines.
i see it, hiding in plain sight,
watching people perform me wrong.
lowest of expectations, ridden lower and low.
fake affection tastes like sour frosting
on a cake that's been left uncovered in the fridge
for way too long.
the outside’s rough, dry—
nevertheless, i take a bite.
there's eerie silence
as i sit at the edge of the windowsill.
numbness lingers.
i pull at the strings.
raw evenings,
i tend to wonder—
write notes, only to surrender.
kindness—they tally manipulation.
flirting, i take as a weapon.
come headfirst—i'm no longer wary.
having given up,
you just add to my list
of why i shouldn't let people carry
me,
or the weight of what i've become.
i don't despise it.
rather, it's a maturity
i ought to carry to a life—
unless i find someone to share this feeling with.
do you feel,
having already expected close to none,
but being handed even lesser—
gift-wrapped in guilt almost—
just please accept it?
expect it the least,
find it dealt in a heist.
even apathy tends to feel violated
when you drag it back to the beginning.
there ought to be a specific hell
for those who tend to exist
and make promises
like they aren't bartering their own.
calling me honest—
with a mouth that lies.
an ache with no name,
a feeling with no gain.
i been known,
been breathing in the sighs—feelings forlorn.
lover girl by laufey plays on my phone,
disappointment of having lost myself
to beliefs that held me strong.
believe,
trust,
exist,
let go.
four friends turned strangers
sitting on the edges of an x.
the centre, i settle upon,
asking what do i name this feeling
that's been born?
how hard is it
to not wear a mask
and change it every time you bask
in a different one’s setting?
a rare emotional creature,
i tend to sit in the foreign setting.
i do not recognize myself.
holding onto things that weren't even present—
this reads like a séance.
funerals held for feelings that needed strengthening,
got tampered with instead,
burnt down to the very bit.
excuse me as i scream in silence.
look at you, with eyes speaking imagery.
build a connection,
hold the other edge of the phone connected to this wire—
one that wouldn't carry any signals.
but i hope you'll still hear
the music that plays this side—
all the unspoken
that i let bleed through my hide.
_masks are unrequired._
i've got an inkling—
you do not understand.
and i do not put it in words.
this, like a myth—uncanny and impossible to uncover.
unless i've got a name to put to this emotion,
i shall drain myself of all words, irrespective—
if it's meant with relating,
or with mirth.
_you can only add to my reasons
of why it isn't ever worth._
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 10:51 AM UTC
A mere click of a button and you’re jumping for joy
A long way we have travelled from pure chaste intentions but how outdated we still are
Faded memories are what we once called the best of days
Now the faster the earth orbits, the feeble our minds are now becoming
What do we do?
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
🍽️
If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:
They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.
Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.
The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.
So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.
They were never here for me…
just the feast.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 6:53 PM UTC
🎭
I’m the fire that craves,
and the frost that forgets.
Love me well,
and I’ll burn eternal.
Cross me once,
and I’ll silence the sun.
Your move.
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 7:21 PM UTC