I loathe myself for loving you—
ash coats my tongue, acid sears my throat.
Your name is shattered glass I can’t swallow;
I spit it out in pieces—each shard slicing on the way out.
I swore I’d never kneel to this feeling,
never rot in this weakness.
Yet here I am—cracked open, gutted by longing.
A volcano in my chest erupts with rage even as it collapses into ash.
Each heartbeat hammers nails of shame into my ribs.
I claw at my chest to rip out this cancerous love,
but I only tear at my own skin.
I curse myself—coward, traitor, fool.
I’m drowning in venom I brewed for you,
There are no tears—only dry heaves of hate.
I cannot look in the mirror; my eyes, brimming with you, make me sick.
I try to strangle this love, only to choke on my own breath.
I want to hate you, but all I do is hate myself for wanting you.
I am already hollow from trying.