Fractured Pulse
Fractured Pulse
I am the storm that swallows its own thunder—
a heart wired to detonate at the first hint of goodbye.
One text left unread and the floor drops out;
I am falling through the black glass of my ribs,
shards slicing every breath into razor prayers:
*Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.*
Yesterday I was sunlight pouring into your hands.
Today I am the knife that carved your name into my thigh
just to feel something warmer than this endless hollow.
The mirror lies again—my face is a stranger’s mask,
pretty, then monstrous, then nothing at all.
I do not know who I am when no one is watching.
Love arrives like gasoline on a match.
I drink it until I choke, then spit fire at the hand that fed me.
Words leave my mouth like broken bottles—
“I hate you” and “I would die for you” in the same scream.
Bridges I built with bleeding fingers burn in minutes.
I stand in the ash and beg the smoke to forgive me.
Emptiness is not quiet.
It is a wolf gnawing the marrow from my bones,
a scream trapped behind my teeth that never quite escapes.
I chase numbness with anything sharp, fast, loud—
pills, blades, strangers, speed—
anything to prove I still exist inside this skin.
Night after night the same war:
I cling until my nails draw blood,
then shove you away so hard the doorframe cracks.
I wait for you to prove I was right—
that everyone eventually walks out.
When you stay, the terror only grows louder:
*How long until you see the real me and run?*
I am exhaustion wearing a smile.
I am rage wearing apology.
I am a girl-shaped wound that keeps reopening
no matter how many stitches I sew with trembling hands.
And still—
in the brief, merciless seconds between hurricanes—
I remember what it felt like to be held without flinching.
I remember wanting to believe I could be loved
without first proving I deserve to burn.
But the storm is rising again.
Listen—
you can hear it in my pulse:
*Don’t leave. Don’t leave.*
I am already gone.
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