*This poem contains references to emotional abuse, drug addiction, betrayal, and psychological manipulation. It may be triggering for readers who have experienced intimate partner violence, loss due to overdose, or complex trauma in relationships. Please read with care.

You preached unbreakable bonds—

unfractured trust,

the fairytales our mothers sold us.

But you couldn’t even look me in the eye.

You screamed.

Begged.

Waited

for a reaction I had already buried.

The one you obsessed over?

You called him divine.

But he was carved by fentanyl highs,

stitched together by syringes

you mistook for redemption.

Still, you wept for him.

Not me.

I didn’t grieve his death.

But you did.

Just like your first choice—

the one who stood you up,

still warm in your texts

when I said “come home soon.”

You grieved his silence

while promising me love.

I don’t know their names.

All the others.

But I know this:

You wore my bruises

like a costume.

Played survivor

in a story you authored

with a smile.

You weren’t broken.

You were a blade.

You cut when they looked away.

Cheating.

Beating.

Breaking.

Undoing.

Your deceit

was not the crack—

it was the hammer.

And I—

was already split

before you even swung.

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