2:47am

where you at.

oh right—
sprinting off the emotional cliff you built.

you came fast,
ghosted faster.
textbook move for a man who “doesn’t catch feelings”
but still spirals from five seconds of eye contact.

it’s not giving “unbothered,”
babe.
it’s giving
“panic attack in work boots.”

you’re not mysterious.
you’re emotionally malfunctioning in real time.

you built the vibe.
lit the fuse.
then vanished like a man who felt intimacy for exactly one heartbeat
and immediately had to fake his own death.

be serious.

you looked at me like you were about to risk it all.
touched me like a prayer you knew you didn’t earn.
then dipped like you absolutely didn’t just have
a spiritual collapse in the front seat of the truck.

this isn’t “growing up.”
it’s fear with better branding.

you don’t look above it.
you look terrified—
and at your big age,
that’s not healing.
that’s your whole personality.

and babe—
i could’ve loved you through the unraveling.
but i’m not begging the devil to bring the angel back.

what showed up wasn’t healed.
it was paranoid.
defensive.
fully inventing scenarios
just to justify abandonment.

that’s not “game,” baby.
that’s untreated damage with a god complex.

just the part of you that hurts people first
so you can call it defensive instead of what it is:
self-sabotage with a sad backstory.

i thought you were broken.
turns out you’re just comfortable being a fucking coward.

you didn’t lose yourself—
you let the meanest,
most fucked up version clock in
and called it a growth spurt.

i would’ve helped you clean your shit up,
but let’s be honest:
you don’t want solutions,
you want excuses
for your asinine-ass choices.

and i’m fresh out.

(—fuck)

so nah,
i’m done praying for your light.
not rooting for your redemption arc.
definitely not watching you gaslight yourself into believing
this shit was strength.

you didn’t just sabotage this—
you made it obvious you’re only built for things
that don’t ask you to be a man.

take care of that nervous system, baby.
she’s fragile.