Silent Poison Tipped In Gold
I still remember saying no—
soft at first, then sharp and slow—
while you ignored the undertow
and chose to stay, not let me go.
My body tensed, my voice turned thin,
a quiet war beneath my skin;
I said stop, but you leaned in—
as if my “no” meant discipline.
I was hurting, you were there,
but you moved like you didn’t care;
like you heard me, knew my fear,
and decided not to hear.
Pain spoke loud where I went numb,
thoughts went still, my mind undone;
all I felt was what you’d become—
a weight, a force I couldn’t outrun.
I wanted out, I needed air,
to break the grip, escape you there;
I screamed until it split the air—
and only then did you seem to care.
Too late to fix what you had done,
too late to say it wasn’t wrong;
I couldn’t name it, couldn’t run
from something buried all along.
Because you didn’t just take skin,
you worked your way beneath, within;
you planted love, disguised as sin,
and let confusion settle in.
I drank the dream you gave to me,
a false, intoxicating plea;
I wore your truth so willingly
I couldn’t see what I couldn’t see.
So I never called it what it was,
never spoke the word because
love had blurred the lines it does—
I trusted you, and that was enough.
The love I had became a blind,
a veil you pulled across my mind;
I thought your heart was intertwined
with mine in ways that heal, not bind.
I thought you’d save me, lift me high,
be gentle hands, a safer sky;
instead you taught me how to die
in quiet ways that don’t ask why.
Sweet at first, then turning cold,
a story dark, a lie retold;
you fed me poison tipped in gold—
and watched it slowly take its hold.
No hero standing in the end,
no savior, lover, guide, or friend;
just broken trust I couldn’t mend,
and truth I had to comprehend.
You wore a mask I couldn’t see,
a careful, crafted decency—
but underneath, so vividly,
you were the devil
disguised to me.
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