I heard them—
low voices curling through the dark,
soft as breath, sharp as broken glass.
I wasn’t supposed to hear.
But I did.

My name—
slipped from their mouths like a secret too heavy,
like a blade drawn slow.
And suddenly,
the walls felt too close,
the air too thick,
the space between us, a battlefield.

I knew what this was.
I’d seen the signs.
The hush when I entered,
the careful glances,
the way the night swallowed their words whole.

I knew—
I knew.

So I lunged.
Didn’t hesitate, didn’t breathe,
just cut.
Words like wildfire,
rage like a flood,
my voice a wrecking ball crashing through their quiet.

And then—
stillness.

No fight.
No denial.
Just eyes wide, hands empty,
hearts bleeding from wounds they never saw coming.

A gift, they said.
A surprise, they said.
A moment of joy,
crushed beneath the weight of my fear.

And suddenly, I am the villain.
The shadow in the room.
The storm where there should have been sun.

I built a monster out of whispers,
let it crawl into my bones,
let it tell me the only story I wanted to hear.

And now, here I stand,
watching trust turn to dust,
watching love fade into silence,
watching them walk away—

because I never thought to ask
before I chose to burn.