Cracks

In the ceiling.

Look at yourself.

Tell yourself you're brilliant.

But I don't believe you.

I don't trust you.

You tell me I'm beautiful.

But I don't believe you.

You look at me,

But you don't see me.

You're obsessed. Fixated.

But you don't know me.

Cracks.

In your smile.

Are you smiling at me?

You see right through me.

What do you need me to be to love me?

Crackles in your throat.

Tell me you're nearby.

Are you close? No.

Smoke.

Lifts the ceiling,

Suffocating me.

Will the cracks let me breathe?

Cracks.

They save me.

They say I'm broken.

You throw me away.

I'm discarded.

Left behind.

Alone.

I won't make it.

Light creeps through,

I see it.

It's longing for me.

Air.

Golden.

I'm afraid.

I don't know who I am without your malicious narration.

Your narrative eclipses me.

It's dark here.

It's all I know.

Every dismissal,

Every ignorance,

Every cigarette.

Leaves a dent in me.

Indifference yet intoxicated.

Your darkness bleeds into mine.

My blood is yours,

But I am not.

The cracks divide me.

They give me release.

I press the cuts in the ceiling.

I watch them spread.

They let in more light.

It bleeds.

They leave wounds.

The scars are golden.

They are made lovely.

I did that.

Without you.

I did that.

Despite you.

I did that.

It's what I deserve.