this time

maybe it really is my own damn fault

the world fees a bit smaller today

through eyelids swollen closed

by the night before

it’s not the first time

I’ve seen through this

penny-pinched perspective 

the distance withering

between walls until

they corner my lungs

and the relentless

rattling of my skull 

and force the narrowed

nearness of my gaze 

to the guilt hovering

hostile 

around him like a halo

daring me to disrespect the

“years and years of 

hard work and suffering”

he’s gone through for this 

"family"

i don’t want his gaslighting

the movement of every action

driving me, directing every 

twitch in my body

distancing us further

i don’t want to

hide here

hidden away 

hurting

in my room

dealing with the saltwater tracks

of secrets i can never tell him

and are seldom spoken

to anyone at all

but my silence

is my own

violently vitriolic volition

upon myself

Author's Note

Not really looking for reviews as a form of critique. Thanks for reading.