iv. letters i should never write: to the woman sleeping with his cadaver

i don’t know you exist.
not for certain.
but i know you exist.

hi.
i’m the past.
the one he couldn’t kill.

let me tell you your future.

he probably said i was insane.
manipulative.
violent.
that he tried.
that i ruined him.

and you—
you probably wanted to believe him.
because it made you feel chosen.
special.
needed.

(i get it)

but i know you’ve seen the cracks.
the things you know not to ask.
the phone face down.
the gaps in the story—
where you can feel it’s a lie.

and honestly?

he’ll grow quieter.
not calm—
just calculating.

you’ll ask simple questions.
he’ll deflect like you struck him.

you’ll rationalize.
he wouldn't.
he couldn’t.
he would.
he did.

you’ll pay the bill.
you’ll fix the mess.
you’ll lie for him.
just like us.

you think i’m bitter,
angry,
unwell.
but no—
i’m free.

i cut the rope.
he wanted us to drown quietly together.

he doesn’t love you.
he loves an ego hit.
he loves your assets.
(did he move in?)

your willingness to believe you’re different.

and i’m sorry.
but—
you’re not.
you’re just next.

because he’s not just damaged.
he’s pathological.

and he’s not haunted.
he’s infected.

(and that makes him dangerous)

he studies people like us so he can become who we need—
to secure the resources he needs to survive.

i hope he hasn’t taken your money yet.
your confidence.
your light.
but if he hasn’t,
he will.

so take this as my warning:
it will hurt.
because when he cracks—
he crushes.
it’s brutal.
irrationally cruel.

and that is the sickness.

he sleeps beside you,
but he’ll never live in that body.

and girl—
he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to unsee his own ghosts.

and you—
you are just his next hiding place.
you are the cover story.
the camo.
the alibi.

so if you see this,
(you probably will)

baby, run.