I’m on the same shit we used to take,

Sitting in my room practicing my face.

Trying to figure out which version of me

Can pass for okay long enough to get through the day.

You say you’d rather die than work for me,

Say it like it’s casual, like it’s nothing.

It lands wrong.

Not because I don’t understand the feeling—

But because I enjoy having you here.

I’m already trying to live all on my own.

I can’t do it for the both of us.

I don’t know how to carry someone else’s will

When mine barely shows up.

I tell you there’s more than misery,

More than waking up already tired.

I say it like I believe it,

Even though some days I’m still breathing

For reasons that don’t feel big enough to explain.

I stay because she’s gone and I’m still here.

Because there are a few people—

I can count them on one hand—

That I want more small moments with.

That’s it.

That’s the list.

You talk about the things you still enjoy,

Say them quiet, like they don’t count.

But I hear something real in your voice,

Like you’re still taking notes on the way down.

I don’t want to save you.

I don’t know how to try.

I just don’t want to pretend

That wanting out is the only honest thing we’re allowed to say.

I’ve still got night terrors.

I still want to die most days.

Staying didn’t fix that.

It just made it louder at night.

I don’t have a speech.

I don’t have a plan.

I just stay on the line longer than I should,

Hoping presence still means something

When answers don’t.