Part II · Descent
Deceit
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.