I'm Not Leaving

I'm Not Leaving
My empty hand hangs in the air like a tree with no roots and no fruit,
our love split apart with such ease like the smoke from an old burial route,
I'm not leaving — I stay planted in this doorway like a knife inside stone,
I refuse to lose a battle where neither one of us ever won or has grown.
We wipe away memories like drawings on a window fogged up from yesterday,
we go back to zero — but zero is a circle and the circle still pulls us its way,
broken promises grind beneath our feet like shattered glass in the dead of night,
and our vows don't mean a thing anymore — hollow words with no weight and no light.
I'm not leaving — even though we fight every day forgetting why we even began,
each one pulling the other one down like two rivers that don't know their own plan,
our families are getting dragged into this slow and dirty current we made,
and what was once a clean kind of love is now nothing but mud and a blade.
The lips that once spoke love — those lips as warm as fresh bread from the fire —
are telling me now that they hate me with a voice that is cold and entire,
the cruelest paradox of all is that hatred speaks with the very same mouth
that once poured out words as sweet as honey, warm as the deepest south.
The eyes that used to search for me in every crowd no longer want to see,
and I stand still like a candle burning in the middle of something too big for me,
I'm not leaving — because leaving would mean that all of it was real and true,
that love actually died and didn't just fall asleep somewhere between me and you.
I'm leaving — I won't stay in a place where my presence is a quiet sin,
where my name is spoken like a curse word by someone lost and paper-thin,
I take my empty hand with me as the only thing I ever truly knew —
and the door closes behind me like an eyelid over everything that was
and was never seen again by you.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

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