She was tired of me screaming at the shadows, tired of the holes I punched in the walls.
The dark kept coming back for me at night, and my fists kept answering before my voice could.
She didn’t leave because she stopped caring — she left because she couldn’t carry it anymore.
And I don’t blame her. I was the one who couldn’t tell the difference between a threat and a memory wearing its face.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2026 17:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A fave William for a write that paints so clearly a character and its thoughts and emotions wrapped into one. Absolutely lovely
Thank you my friend
You are very welcome Willam
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