I’m done with soft words and polite little lies. Done pretending your storms are somehow mine. You twist your feelings into shapes with my name, then blame me for the ache you carried long before I came. I won’t carry what you invent. I’m not your mirror. I’m not your cure. I’m not the ghost you swear I conjured. Your pain is not my crime. I won’t speak in broken tongues just to soothe your fragile truth. I won’t bend my spine again to fit the story you invent. I’m not cruel— you’re just confused. But I’m tired of being used as the reason you refuse to face yourself. I didn't do anything, You call it betrayal when it’s just projection. I didn't do anything you call it rejection when it’s your own reflection. I’m not your fiction. You wanted a savior, you wanted a flame— but I’m not responsible for the pain in your veins. I won’t be your excuse. I won’t speak in broken tongues just to soothe your fragile truth. I won’t bend my spine again to fit the story you invent. I’m not cruel— you’re just confused. But I’m tired of being used as the reason you refuse to face yourself. You felt something— fine. But that doesn’t make me yours. Your pain is not my fault. Your longing is not my debt. Your chaos is not my burden. Your story is not my cage. I’m not your ghost. I won’t speak in broken tongues to make your world feel safe. I won’t carry your mistakes like they were carved into my name. I’m not cruel— you’re just confused. But I’m done being accused of the hurt you never learned to hold alone. I’m not your cure. I’m not your target. Not anymore. If you need a target aim at your own truth.
