Demolition By Soft Touches
Your words were soft, almost holy.
You held me until the static in my mind went quiet,
and for a moment, I floated
on a perfectly still ocean.
Then came your warning: Behave.
A cold hand pulling the curtain back on the act.
Was it all a performance?
Now the quiet feels like a trap,
and I am walking blindly,
waiting for the floor to drop beneath me.
Are you trying to rot my conscience from within?
To build an armor around me,
only to strip it away
once you’ve bent me to your hidden design?
Stop playing games with my shadow.
I am tired of dying in installments,
of being eroded piece by piece.
If you are going to strike, do it now—
drive the blade deep
and leave me completely broken or completely free.
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