ash and confession
When I burn like ash in the atmosphere, you pull me into hell — coldly, gently, without asking.
ash and confession
I burn to ash in the air we share,
not in flames, but in silence that smothers slowly.
You reach for me with hands like winter,
cold, deliberate, never asking, never hesitating.
And I, with a heart already turned to charcoal,
still look to the sky and whisper to heaven,
as if heaven still hears me,
as if I haven’t already made you my god.
You speak to me in the language of shadows,
each word a thread that binds tighter than chains.
I call it prayer,
but it tastes like smoke
poured over a mouth that no longer lies
but seduces with truths no one survives.
My sins flicker like dying stars
and collapse in your pupils without light.
You do not forgive,
you forget,
and in that forgetting,
you pull me deeper than any punishment I could earn.
Your gaze slices cleaner than any blade,
but I do not bleed,
I bloom in bruises and verses,
every wound another stanza in a poem only you could write.
To be with you is not to fall in love.
It is to fall through love,
to crash through the echo of something once pure
and find, at the bottom,
a quiet so loud it splits bone from soul.
I drown in you like a final confession
spoken too late to matter,
with no priest but your silence,
and no penance but the way your breath stays in my lungs
long after you’ve gone.
You are not my lover.
You are the sentence I chose to serve,
the poison I drink slowly each night,
the copper taste of old coins on my tongue
when I pray for peace and get you instead.
Still, I walk to you.
Not because I’m lost,
but because you erased every other road
and I loved you for it.
— Runnilune.
Thank you for reading, especially if you made it through every line break and pause.
If any of them lingered, or maybe these poems said something you’ve been trying to name, or simply just kept you company for a while—feel free to drop a little caffeine. It helps me write the next thing I don’t yet know how to say. :)