The House We Built

You fear the worst of me, you think

I’m against you,

my love is a storm you refuse to

stand under,

a fragile teacup, hands trembling,

shattered, scattered,

sharp pieces I cannot gather

without bleeding.

I tried to reach you beyond your

shield,

but love cannot mend what hides in

the shadows.

You said you can’t love the man I

am behind these walls,

and all I am is walls, silent stone on

stone.

A song that plays only in dreams –

that’s what it was, wasn’t it? A

melody too delicate for waking,

a verse that fades with the dawn,

slips into silence.

The sun, it fades on those who stay,

and here I am, fading with it,

dimming into dust.

We built a table together, a place for

our dreams,

but sometimes people want to eat

at your table just to see you choke.

Was it you or me who brought

poison to the feast?

Or was it the quiet bitterness,

sipped in secret,

that left us both starving in the

end?

You’re my cross, heavy, unforgiving,

splinters buried deep in my

shoulders.

I would carry you anywhere, but

you’ve left me in this empty house –

you told me to ready it, prepare it

for storms, for heartbreak,

but I never thought the breaking

would come from you.

You see right through this heart of

mine, then you pull the blinds.

I stand here, watching your shadow

retreat,

feeling the echo of what you saw,

the light you shut out.

I’m glass in a storm, shattered by

every word left unsaid,

by the song that never found it’s

ending.

And still, I hold the fragments,

hands bleeding as I clutch the

pieces that once held us.

I was yours – am yours – standing

here among the ruins,

trying to piece together the shape

of something that’s already gone.

Each shard cuts deeper, but I can’t

let go, can’t unlearn the way you

felt like home,

even now – as the walls collapse and

the silence fills every room.