Piece by Piece

I didn’t fall into the dark.
I was dragged.
Fingernails screaming against the floor of my own chest,
trying to hold onto something
that had already decided to let go.

The dark doesn’t rush.
It takes its time.
It peels you slowly,
like it wants you awake for every layer it removes.

First it takes your voice.
Words rot in your mouth,
turn heavy, useless,
until silence becomes the only thing that listens.

Then it takes your memories
and sharpens them.
Every good moment turned into a blade,
every laugh replayed
just long enough to hurt again.

I claw forward anyway,
not because I believe there’s light
but because staying still feels like dying faster.
My hands bleed into the dark
and the dark drinks it gladly.

Something in me keeps tearing,
not all at once,
but piece by piece,
small enough that no one notices
until there’s barely anything left to rip.

I whisper apologies to myself
for surviving this long.
For not knowing how to stop.
For hoping even when hope feels like betrayal.

There is no sunrise here.
No lesson.
No strength born from suffering.

Just a body moving
because it hasn’t learned how to vanish
dragging a heart
that’s been shredded so many times
it no longer knows what whole ever meant.

The dark doesn’t end.
It only waits
for you to stop clawing.