Through the Fog

Tag: Self Destruction

  • Slurring All Your Words

    You were slurring all your words,

    not making any sense,

    laughing at things that weren’t funny,

    stumbling through sentences

    like the ground kept shifting.

    I watched the light in your eyes

    flicker in and out,

    like you were here,

    but only halfway—

    the rest of you drowning

    in whatever you were trying to escape.

    It wasn’t cute,

    or wild,

    or free.

    It was the kind of broken

    you pretend is a good time

    until the room goes quiet

    and you finally hear

    how far you’ve fallen.

    And maybe you didn’t notice,

    but I did—

    every cracked edge,

    every swallowed feeling,

    every truth you were too gone to say.

    You weren’t making sense…

    but the pain beneath it?

    That part was loud.

  • A Little Too Much

    I’ve been told

    I take my anger out on everyone else,

    like I’m swinging at shadows

    because I’m too afraid

    to hit the truth.

    They say I’ve been drinking too much,

    that my nights blur together

    because it’s easier

    than remembering them clearly.

    That the glass in my hand

    has become the closest thing

    I have to quiet.

    And the worst part is—

    they’re not wrong.

    I see the hurt in their eyes

    when my voice gets sharp,

    when my patience snaps,

    when I become someone

    I promised I’d never be.

    I know they’re reaching for me,

    but half the time

    I’m too far inside myself

    to reach back.

    Some days I don’t even know

    who I’m trying to protect—

    them, or the version of me

    that’s already breaking.

    I don’t drink to forget.

    I drink because remembering

    hurts in ways I can’t explain.

    Because silence echoes,

    and loneliness grows teeth,

    and some nights my chest

    feels too small

    for everything I’ve swallowed.

    I wish I could be better,

    softer,

    easier to love.

    But most days

    I’m just trying to keep myself

    from falling apart in the middle

    of someone else’s arms.

    And I know—

    I know—

    I’m losing pieces of myself

    trying to outrun pain

    that follows me everywhere.

    I just hope one day

    I learn how to stop breaking

    the people who stay.