When ruin stands before me, vast and certain,
a slow ache rises—a quiet yearning
to sit, to fold into myself like the last light of day,
to shut my eyes and surrender to the dark, unafraid.
 
My destruction wears the face of an old friend,
its voice soft as autumn’s final breath.
I feel it in my bones—the pull to rest,
to sink like stone into the sea boundless.
 
The world unravels around me, brittle and grey,
And these hands tired, so tired
there is no fight left in my tired hands.
Like a fading star in the tragedy of night,
I am drawn to stillness, to the end that certainly waits,
where all things shatter, and I am one with dust,
Forevermore.

( Your regret won’t fix me)
Your regret is an empty cup, 
raised too late to quench a thirst already forgotten, 
I am the shattered glass left on the floor, 
and your remorse, like a gentle rain, falls uselessly on shards that will not soften. 

You look at me with eyes that ache, 
as if guilt could reach down and cradle what you broke killed
your regret, a key rusted 
dangling in a lock that no longer turns. 

What’s now left of me is dust and memory, 
and all the longing in the world 
won’t bring life to what you let die.

I find myself, in the middle of a hazy dream, nothing feels real— 
as if every shadow 
once belonged somewhere else, 
as if I don’t belong anywhere at all.

I ask myself within my dream,
Will waking be any different? 
Will light erase this vague shape, 
this tight, confining blur.
I wake, but the phantoms linger, 
Outside, streets stretch cold, unfamiliar,  . 
I search them for something that might belong to me, 
but the air is mute, peering.

Only my childhood doll, soft and warm, 
seems to remember me— 
the only echo of a home I can’t remember, 
Her fading eyes holding the last spark of warmth 
I shan’t touch again.

I am a phantom adrift in my own skin,
a hollow vessel, bearing a name I do not recognize.
My mind splinters like glass, scattered across the floors of my broken home,
My heart, a trembling bird, claws for answers in the shadows.

One day, I tell myself, I will find refuge
in the shape that haunts this flesh,
in the quiet pulse of  this haunting stranger who shares my veins.
One day, I will rest in the knowing—
of the soul that lingers beneath this fog,
the unseen thread that binds my fractured being.