Get Over It

I loved a ghost in human skin, a promise stitched with poison grin. They broke me quiet, inch by inch, and called it love — I didn’t flinch. My tears were swallowed by the floor, my screams locked behind a bolted door. The world kept turning, no one stared, no one asked, no one cared. I begged my “friends” for signs of life, but they just sighed — “We’re tired of your strife.” And when I crawled out, bleeding, raw, they clapped their hands like they’d done it all. Now they wear my pain like borrowed fame, rewrite my scars to clear their names. “Didn’t we help?” they proudly say — where were you when I decayed? I learned to rebuild with trembling bone, to love the silence, die alone. I fear the touch that feels too near, because love now sounds like something to fear. So here I stand, a ghost reborn, stitched with rage, and softly torn. You all said, “Get over it, it’s done.” But the wound still whispers — I was the only one. (based on my pain)