Mmm, yeah...
Been fasting from the noise,
from the need to be understood,
from reaching for hands that never planned to hold me.
And somewhere in the silence,
I started growing.
Started hearing God louder than the echoes of your name.
Don't hate it when the signal dies inside the static of a long night,
when inspiration talks reckless through the smoke of old memories.
You cried over breakfast,
mascara swimming in apologies,
and somehow I was still the guilty one.
Tell me why you're at this doorway
when your spirit checked out seasons ago?
You memorized my poetry,
wore my language like jewelry,
then treated my devotion like something borrowed.
And that love felt unfamiliar after that.
Wrong flavor.
Wrong frequency.
Wrong echo coming back from the walls.
That wasn't just heartbreak.
That was violence against trust.
I deserved honesty in those embraces.
Not disappearing acts.
Not half-truths dressed in pretty outfits.
Not conversations I never got invited to about a future that belonged to both of us.
Before the promises.
After the promises.
While I was fasting,
you were feeding old appetites.
While I was healing,
you were rehearsing exits.
While I was growing,
you were becoming somebody I no longer recognized.
Sending broken-heart emojis while
I was turning grief into scripture,
filling journals like they could resurrect us,
trying to repair damage I never created.
Meanwhile, you laughed.
Passed around my vulnerability like it was entertainment.
Do you know what it costs a man to write the truth?
Every page was flesh.
Every line was blood.
Every word was me saying,
"Please don't make me regret believing."
So why are you standing here now?
To cure your boredom?
To see if the fire still burns?
To hide in familiar darkness because the world got louder than you expected?
Or did the whirlwind finally arrive?
Because storms have a way of collecting every debt.
Honestly,
the way you did it,
the timing,
the precision,
the coldness...
That wasn't heartbreak.
That was overkill.
You took poetry from my hands
and handed it to the crowd.
Then acted surprised when silence became my answer.
Mmm... yeah.
Now I'm fasting from the illusion of you.
Detoxing from memories I kept overdosing on.
Learning that peace tastes different when betrayal finally leaves the room.
Maybe that's the miracle.
Not that I survived you.
That I still know how to love after all of it.
Swear to God...
Folks show more empathy and respect on a Chicago drill.
You over-killed me.