you were literally supposed to be my soulmate and now im just a clown
You never showed up when you were supposed to —
in nuance, in moods, in life’s shifting layers.
Not for me, not for the ones before me
whose names you pressed into the pavement
like discarded prayers.
.
You speak of choices—
good, evil, some philosophical middle ground—
but you never choose, do you?
You only preach,
shrug, and mess around.
.
I held your name in the sky,
balanced it on the sharp edge of hope,
thought it might carve out something holy.
But it was paper-thin,
curling in the wind like ash,
its presence fading slowly.
.
I trusted the quiet of your hands,
blinded to their taint.
The stillness in your chest—
mistaken for peace.
Now I know:
it was only emptiness wrapped in restraint,
a timeline with a silent scar,
a ticking bomb.
Last night,
I flinched at the sound
of who you really are.
.
How small you’ve become.
How foolish I was to think you were zen
when you were a storm
that made my nerves numb.
And me—God, me—
always kneeling at the altar of potential,
breaking my back for something
that looks like salvation
but sounds like an excuse.
But oh, we make it existential.
.
This is the pattern I swore I’d unlearn,
and yet here I am, stitching it back together
with every scar you make me earn.
But you—
you do the same.
The only difference is
you call it a different name.
.