Honey and Ruin in I Kept the Pieces That Hurt the Most

Their words fell, drop by drop, like a slow, seeping poison, sinking into the spaces between trust and doubt.

I drank them all. Not because I was thirsty, but because I wanted to believe that honey could taste like ruin and still be sweet.

Their lips moved, soft as the whisper of a blade, each syllable carving away pieces of me until I no longer recognized the shape of my own heart.

I stood there, bare, as they wove love from smoke and dressed it in promises - thin fabric, easily torn.

Now I watch the truth pool at my feet, a stain that will not fade, and wondering how long before I stop feeling the burn.