A Thousand Needles

Pain is inevitable, they say,
but this suffering—this torment—feels eternal.
My heart is a battlefield,
Pierced by serrated needles that twist and grind,
moving back and forth, carving deeper wounds,
their paths widening,
a cone of agony shaped by memories of you.

It is not just one needle;
my heart is a forest of them.
Each thorn whispers your name,
each one a reminder of the love I can never hold again.
The room breathes your absence.
The air tastes of regret,
and the shadows carry the echoes of your voice.

You haunt me,
even after all these years.
I try to avoid you in every place,
but you exist in the spaces I cannot escape—
the hollow of my chest,
the tears that never fall but always threaten.

And yet, I blame myself.
Bastard, fool, failure—
I gave you my everything,
and still, I failed.
You forgot my birthday,
forgot my love,
and still, I forgot how to let you go.

Revenge creeps into my thoughts,
but it feels shallow,
just another way to mask the pain.
I wonder if you think of me,
even for a moment,
or if I am nothing more
than a memory you burned,
a sweater discarded,
a rose turned to ash.

But this is my curse, not yours.
You've moved on; I'm still here,
a prisoner of my own mind,
crafting stories where you notice my absence,
where you understand my pain.

The truth?
I loved you in ways words cannot hold,
and losing you has left me empty,
my heart beating only to feel the needles twist.
But perhaps one day,
when the last thorn breaks away,
I will find myself whole again,
a phoenix rising from the ashes

Until then,
I am here—
a man who once loved,
and now lives in the shadow of what could have been.