You laughed like a secret, sat close like a spell,
But clubs in your grin meant you never thought well.
Said we were soulmates, sisters in crime
But you cracked at the edges
when it wasn’t your time.

Queens don’t trust jokers, I learned this too late
Playing your part and I sealed my fate.
Spades behind backs and diamonds for shine,
You twisted the truth with one scripted line.

So here’s to the fall, to the crash, to the end.
To fake little hearts that pretend to be friends.
I’ll toast to the silence, to truth in the dark
And rebuild my throne from your fake house of cards.

🍽️

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.

Sharing my pain would heal me, i thought.
So I opened up
told them everything.
The sleepless nights, the buried fears, the truth.

And they listened.
But not to understand.

They turned my story into gossip.
My wounds into entertainment.
Some even laughed.

That’s when I learned
not everyone deserves your truth.
Some people don’t hold your pain.
They dance to it.

A part of me believes you are the one—
my soul’s mirror, cursed and divine,
etched in blood and stardust,
a love whispered through the walls of time,
too raw to name, too wild to hold.

We are the story others wish they lived,
a tale soaked in passion,
burning at both ends.
But god—
there are nights when silence swallows me whole.
When your eyes
aren’t windows anymore,
just locked doors I’ve forgotten how to open.

And I wonder—
are we fated...
or just fools,
chained together by fire and illusion?

You’ve cracked the bones of my trust—
not enough to make me leave,
but enough that I bleed
in places you never see.
Your sins aren’t monstrous.
But they linger—
like ghosts in our bed,
curling under sheets,
whispering doubts into my dreams.

We are imperfect, yes.
But isn’t love supposed to be sanctuary?
Why then,
do I feel like a prisoner
in the arms that once set me free?

I ask the moon if maybe I’m just scared—
scared I won’t find another love
this devastatingly beautiful,
this cruelly perfect.

Because when it’s good—
it’s heaven,
dressed in skin and breath.
But when it’s bad—
you are a stranger
I never meant to love.

And it’s the early mornings that **** me.
When your arms wrap around me
like ivy on a crumbling chapel,
your kisses whisper “I love you”
in a language older than words—
and I want to believe.
I do.
But the ache doesn’t sleep.

It claws at me in the dark.
And some nights...
some nights I dream of betrayal.
Not out of desire—
but revenge.
To make you feel the fracture.
To let you wear my ache
like perfume.

A sin to mirror yours—
soft, quiet, almost poetic.

I know I should forgive.
I know healing asks for time.
But part of me is still
dragging broken glass
through the cathedral of my heart,
searching for the trust you shattered.

And a part of me—
a part of me wants to stay
for a thousand lifetimes.

But a part of me?
A part of me runs
in every dream
where you’re not holding me.

🫵

Tell me..

who betrayed you?

Not a stranger,
never a stranger.

Strangers don’t get close enough
to wound that deep.

It was a relative,
with your blood in their mouth.

A friend,
with your secrets in their grip.

A lover,
whispering forever
while packing knives.

Or maybe
that one person you trusted
more than yourself.

Betrayal wears
a familiar face.

It always knows
exactly where to aim.