You gave me something to remember
but it wasn't love.
It was a wound
wrapped in silver and sparkle,
a quiet kind of pain
that sits in the heart
and never leaves.
Like a ring made of poison,
it looked like forever
but burned like lies.
It fit so perfectly,
but it killed slowly
each day a little more of me fading.
Your words were soft,
your touch even softer,
but the damage was loud.
I didn't hear it at first
the way silence can scream
when someone leaves without slamming the door.
I carry your memory like a stone in my chest,
heavy, cold, unmovable.
Not because I want to,
but because I can't forget
what almost was.
Love shouldn't feel like this
like bleeding without a wound,
like crying without sound,
like begging in dreams
to feel whole again.
And yet I still think of you.
Of that ring.
Of how beautiful poison can look
when you're too in love to see it kills.