I leave behind the wreckage of their trust,
Sweet nothings wilt where once they bloomed with grace.
Love, to me, is ashes, not stardust—
Just broken hearts that vanish without trace.
Their pleading eyes, their final cries, grow old,
I wear their sorrow like a prized perfume.
My lips are red, my stare is carved in gold,
Yet I have always been the one to doom.
They’d take from me if I were soft or kind,
The world rewards the ones who strike first blood.
So I arrive with fire in my mind,
And leave them crawling through the filth and mud.
I’ve learned to steal what no one freely gives,
To smile while taking what they’d never lend.
This is the law by which the monster lives—
The kind will lose; the ruthless always end.
But don’t mistake this armor for my skin,
I once was soft, a girl with glass in hand.
When no one came, I learned to hold it in—
To guard my tears, to draw a battle plan.
They left me cold in childhood’s shattered room,
With dreams that froze beneath a mother’s scream.
I built this shell to rise above the gloom,
And killed the girl who dared to hope or dream.
I wonder if there’s more than how I live—
A touch not meant to bruise, a kiss not lied.
Is there a world where I still learn to give,
Where beauty isn’t something used to hide?
At night, I dream I’m someone I don’t know—
She laughs with ease and loves without a mask.
But morning comes, and I must let her go—
For mercy is a blade I cannot grasp.
