Slow.
Entangling.
Rot wears the face of patience.
Silence gathered like rust.
Endurance cracked quietly.
Decay entered silently and made itself a home.
Dust fell into every sacred thing.
The ashtray overflowed beside untouched flowers.
The garden party continued.
I spent years
waiting for grief
to come roaring back through the door.
Instead it learned to sit beside me.
Never gone,
only softer now,
lingering like an old friend waiting across the table.
The years no longer howl
like they used to.
Light returns slowly,
through the kitchen windows,
laying gold across unwashed dishes
and half-watered plants.
Half-warm coffee.
Rain against the garden.
The cat asleep nearby.
My name resting safely in my own hands.
The light asks nothing of me.
There are still nights
where memory returns like weather,
slow thunder in the bones,
old wounds opening their tired mouths—
but it passes.
I no longer confuse peace with emptiness.
No one tells you,
how strange it feels
when your life finally stops hurting.
How silence itself
can make you weep.
Some wounds never vanish.
They simply loosen their grip.
The world grows around it.
Now the winters arrive gently.
Not as punishment—
just another season passing through.
My body learned your rhythm
before my mind could understand it.
I felt you
where silence never goes—
My heart
softened into your hands
without asking.
Somewhere
between breaths,
I became yours
without noticing when it happened.
In my trenches–
this haunted house
eats me whole.
Ghosts of memory
wander.
Whispers in the walls.
My mind—
a forbidden dungeon
no one enters.
Something inside
won’t stay still.
Dead eyes.
On the floor again.
Holding roses,
bleeding out on the floor—
the witching hour waits,
voices at the door.
my love,
built in ruin,
wounded.
there’s blood in the water—
and still
I ruin more.
My grief taught me discipline.
Not the clean, motivational kind—
the quiet, brutal kind.
that holds you together
when everything you love comes undone.
The discipline of surviving
what should have broken you.
Grief carved the truth in front of me—
the pause before collapse.
Tears taught me
what words never could.
My peace arrived—
honest, not gentle.
Now I honour the scars that taught me—
the ones that closed without permission,
that carried wisdom into my skin
and proved I was worth healing.
I let go of what no longer serves me.
I stand in the truth of my heart
and the marrow of my soul.
I learned early—
nothing leaves clean.
Not grief.
Not love.
Not the versions of you
you had to bury to survive.
Fallen tears.
Coffee stains.
Sunlight
cracks through the window—
soft,
but unforgiving.
Heaven—
a state of mind.
Hell
lives deep in the heart.
Smoke without fire.
Footsteps that don’t return.
And something in you
still counting the dead.
Yesterday’s faults
become tomorrow’s sorrows.
In the dark corners of my mind
I string stars like fairy lights.
I take thunder in my chest
and turn it to fuel—
to light the fire within.
Deep with rage
the soul rots between the bones.
Voices fade.
Words disappear.
Sleep comes—
never gently.
Standing alone in the forest,
the ground underneath
swallowing me whole.
I escape morning
After night
has unearthed my bones.
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