i didn't want to hurt you
so i hurt myself

if someone were to ask me what we just argued about
i don't think i'd be able to tell them
we just were

i had enough when you turned the lights on
i threw my headphones out of my ears
stomped to the switch

i asked if i could turn the light off
silence from your end.

silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from all ends. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end. silence from your end.

i just wanted it to end.

i don't know what came over me
i snatched the black crown i wore for my sixteenth birthday
off of the shelf
and i bolted to the bathroom

i took a sec to admire it
reminding me how sweet and soft i used to be
16 // 19
where did my happiness go ?

i didn't want to hurt you
so i hurt myself

i dragged the sharp combs
down my forearms 8 times
it wasn't deep enough to my liking so--

i lost count.
all i can focus now is about how much it hurts
it stings, i wanted to stop
yet, i wouldn't without the sight of metallic blood seeping through the skin

i didn't go deep enough
i got scared.

i stepped back out, fixed my sleeve, tossed the crown on the ground

are you done ?

silence from your end.
'if you wanted to harm yourself why did you use the crown and not the--'

you laughed at me. you mocked my pain.
which, i have no idea what must've been so funny about it
maybe it's cause i was crying

i was crying because i've never done that to myself. i never felt the need. i had never felt the overwhelming urge to put a fist in your face that instead i chose the urge to take it out on myself. but you laughed. you laughed in my face. when i asked if i could turn the lights back off it was just silence from your end. then you told me i was wasting my own time.
right. i'm wasting my own time.

i just tried to get my things done.            you're supposed to be my sister.

A spiritual journey is funny.
Just when you think you've lost, you've actually won.
Not because you gave up, but because you learned to let go...

-Rhia Clay

I have seen men stay—
not because the world asked,
but because their promises whispered louder than fate.

They kneel by the grave of trust,
watering it with silence,
torn hands, and undone dreams.

Loyalty,
is not medals, not songs—
but the quiet refusal to leave
when everything burns.

He loved her
like broken glass holds light—
sharp, trembling, dangerous
but never letting go.

His tears
do not fall where eyes can see;
they bleed into stone,
into night,
into fists pressed hard to bone.

The world laughed.
She left.
He stayed.
Like an old tree refusing to unroot
even when the wind ripped off its leaves.

Sometimes,
pain is just another name for loyalty—
sometimes,
love forgets to be kind
but the loyal never forget to stay.

They curse him—
"You fool."
He whispers back—
"She was worth the ruin."

The ache,
the ache grows ribs inside him,
a second skeleton made of memory,
and each breath—
a war between holding on
and letting go.

And yet he stands,
storm-eyed, sunburned, spine bent not by fear,
but the weight of a vow
that no longer speaks back.

Because loyalty is not romantic.
It is tragic.
It is noble.
It is madness.
And still—
it is love.