Consequence
The cracks began where trust should live—
I broke the vows, took more than gave,
let silence fester, lies I’d give
to hide the self I couldn’t save.
ADHD, depression—names
for all the static in my head.
But pain explained is not the same
as pain endured. The words I’ve said
(and didn’t say) became a wall.
Now every stumble, every fall—
she catalogs with surgical care:
the tone, the time, the unpaid care,
the way I breathe, the way I sit.
My flaws, a script she won’t forget.
I know I broke her. Know the cost.
But god, the silence makes me small.
Each try to heal, each step I’ve lost—
she meets with, “You. You feel it all.
Your feelings always come in first.”
And maybe that’s the curse, the worst:
I try to speak a small hurt’s name—
she turns it back into my shame.
So am I narcissist? Just lost?
A man who broke what mattered most,
now flinching at the daily frost?
My brain just aches. My heart’s a ghost.
I want to get better. I swear I do.
But how when every word I use
feels like a weapon turned on me—
no room to breathe, no truce, no sea
to wash this low, this lonely through?
Fuck.