I see your instability.

I see the way you cannot focus

unless someone else’s demise brings you joy.

I see how the things I once believed held you together

are now the fibers that tear you apart,

suspending you above the things you despise.

I see how your leg shakes when you’re anxious,

waiting for someone to hold it still,

and how you speed up when you glimpse your shadow,

following you in quiet pursuit.

I used to see you.

I used to see honey, sweet as white sugar,

paintings drenched in vulgar colors,

and fire that broke free of every boundary.

I used to hear you.

I used to hear oceans, waves crashing against fragile shores,

piano melodies weaving intricate notes into perfection.

But now,

I only see me.