Love for you stings, sharp and unwanted—
not by your actions,
but the quiet, aching knowing
you’ll never be mine to hold.

Your absence echoes through the silence,
but when you return,
time holds its breath.
I replay our moments—
a broken record,
haunted by the hours
when you vanish into the void.

I let myself believe your gaze
holds more than you intend,
until I recall, too late—
I’m blinded by rose-colored glass.

I watch you—blind, devoted,
your vision clouded by cruel love.
If they stabbed you, you’d apologize
for staining their clothes,
and I, as always,
would help you clean the mess—
silently bleeding, unseen beside you.

You swear they’re your light,
but I see the shadows they cast.
You’d call their darkness beautiful,
and I’d stand in it,
hoping you’d notice me there.

I would take a bullet for you,
even knowing your finger
pulled the trigger.
Love makes martyrs
of fools—
like me.