What The Storm Left Behind

I watched addiction consume you—

not slowly,

not silently—

but like an EF5 tornado

tearing through a quiet town

where no one heard the sirens

in time.

It didn’t just take you.

It devoured you.

Spat out your smile in pieces.

Swallowed your light.

Left behind the hollow shell

of someone

I used to know.

Your eyes—

once bright with mischief

and meaning—

dimmed like a dying ember,

smothered beneath

years of hurt

no one dared to name.

I saw you vanish

long before

you disappeared.

Your voice—

once a melody

of warmth

and wit—

slurred

into something sludgy.

Broken.

Unrecognizable.

You stopped speaking in full thoughts—

just fragments.

Just ghosts

of what you were trying to say.

It’s terrifying—

how little it takes

to unravel

a life.

One moment.

That’s all.

A split-second fracture:

a memory you couldn’t outrun,

a sorrow no one saw,

a hand that never

should’ve touched you.

You walked a road

paved in blood

and broken glass.

Or maybe…

it walked you.

Because there’s never really a choice

when pain is passed down

like a birthright—

when destruction

is the only language

you were ever taught.

And me?

I stood

on the sidelines.

Safe

behind the wall

of my own stability.

Watching

you

drown.

I hate myself

for how still

I stood.

For the times

I turned away

because I didn’t know

how to save you

without losing

myself.

I miss

the before-you.

The one who laughed

from her belly—

the kind of laugh

that made strangers smile.

The one who burned

so bright

she made shadows jealous.

I miss

the late-night talks.

The sacred silences.

The way you made the dark

feel less

lonely.

Now—

all I hear

is the echo.

The hollow thud

of memories

banging against the walls

of my chest.

This…

is not a poem.

This is an elegy

for someone

still

alive.

This is my cry—

ugly,

desperate,

aching—

from the marrow

of my being

to the fractured mirror

of who

you became.

If you’re still in there—

anywhere—

please…

Come home.