Perhaps I was born to self-destruct,
To crave the things, I cannot touch.
To fall for dreams that never breathe,
A love half-formed, a ghost beneath.

You skipped past love and handed me hate,
A cruel exchange, a twisted fate.
The thought of you still haunts my mind,
A story I’m not yet ready to find.

No matter how far I try to run,
Your shadow lingers beneath the sun.
Etched on my soul like a phantom’s scar,
A memory burning, too close, too far.

Your name still sends shivers down my spine,
Your touch, a fever I claim as mine.
In hot sweats, I wake, your ghost in the air,
The scent of regret, the weight of despair.

You’re the cork lodged deep in my throat,
The scream unsaid, the unfinished note.
The words and memories buried too low,
Clawing for light but refusing to show.

Was I destined for this endless ache?
A fragile heart is so prone to break.
Yet even in ruin, I find strange art,
In the beauty of falling apart.