I let them hold the keys—
my heart, my trust, my fragile peace—
and watched the floor fall out beneath
the life I thought was mine.
Three years—was it really so long
since the world spun away from me?
Since I begged for reasons
and got only silence in reply?
They said, "It's not you,"
but when you’re the one left staring
at the blank wall, at the empty phone,
how can it be anyone else?
Neighbors' eyes turned sharp as frost.
Friends' voices vanished like smoke.
Even my own four walls grew cold—
a house is not a home when you’re its only ghost.
There’s a panic that starts in the throat,
claws through your ribs,
whispers that you don’t belong,
not anywhere, not even in your skin.
Do you know what it is
to be discarded, to be unseen,
to reach out for someone—anyone—
and touch only emptiness?
Even the dreams betray me;
I wake up drowning in dread,
the nights too long, the days too loud,
the world a place I cannot go.
Months passed. Apologies came—
too late, too light, unable
to glue together what they shattered.
Some things are not so easily returned.
I have learned not to search for love
in hands that drop you when you’re heavy.
I have learned that solitude
can be crueler than any wound.
Still, I breathe. I wait.
I make a home of small mercies:
a quiet hour, a cup of tea,
the hope that pain is not the only truth
But trust—
that’s gone, like the sunlight
I used to know, before fear
chained me to these walls.
If you see me, know this:
I am more than what they left behind.
I am the ache, the survivor, the quiet
still searching for the worth in staying.
Even now, even here.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: July 26th, 2025 14:55
- Comment from author about the poem: I've been thinking about my neighbor, wondering what's going through her head and how she feels. I can only imagine how hurt she is. So, I wrote this poem for my friend.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
A poem of pain and deterioration of what one once was. Imprisoned inside one's own walls hope dwindles and belief is dead. All that survives is anxiety and a faint ember of hope. The knowledge that one has survived to this point fans the ember. Lovely
Thank you very much for your comment, SorenBarrett. You are correct to a certain extent, but another point to consider is to never judge a delusion in a painting.
You are welcome
It is a painful and sad existence to feel trapped within your own four walls of your home and your mind, when everything that mattered has gone and you question your own existence. Hopefully when the demolition has been cleared a bright new future will arise out of the debris for them. Very compassionate and caring write
Thank you for your kind words.Poetic Licence
You are very welcome
.Wow, my dear friend. Powerful poem The weight of silence, the hurt of being unseen...it’s all here, carefully and honestly expressed. You’ve given voice to what so many carry quietly. A powerful and compassionate piece. 🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ A fave.
Thank you, my friend,❤️🙌❤️
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