Letters in the Void

The ghosts of disillusioned love
still haunt me;
a sharpened pressure in my chest
refusing to soften.

This ache demands escape.

I write
to raise the sorrow
anchored in the abyss of my ribs;
screams forced to silence.

I write
for every opened wound
unable to heal;
a story suffocating to be known.

This is a purge
of every moment my heart collected
grief and false hope;
pain it can no longer contain.

In the void,
I write to be free.

THE VOICE OF PAIN

TO MY YOUNGER SELF

To my younger self,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for all the times you believed
you weren't good enough.
I'm sorry for all the choices you made
before you knew there was another way.
I'm sorry you had to carry everything
alone.

I'm sorry for the groundhog days
you spent hating yourself.
I'm sorry for the blame handed to you
that was never yours to hold.
I'm sorry for the lies they imprinted on
you
screaming,
you're worthless.

I'm sorry for letting
you believe you were
a burden, a failure.

I'm sorry for wishing
the worst
upon the worst
for yourself.

I know those words
replay in your head on repeat
like a never ending horror movie
and how hard you fight to press stop.

I'm sorry for making you believe
you have to shapeshift or run
the moment conflict arises.
I'm sorry for sabotaging
every potential,
every glimpse of serenity.

I'm sorry for harming your body
with poison and reckless choices.
I'm sorry for giving you away so easily,
for thinking maybe, just maybe
this one will see me
and want to stay.
I'm sorry for not listening
while you were screaming
don't leave me.

I wish I could go back
and hold you.
Tell you that what happened
in that house was never your fault.
I wish I could go back
and tell you that you were always
enough as you are.
I wish I could go back
and tell you that you never
had to earn love or prove your worth
for people to stay.

I wish I knew then
what I know now.

I'm sorry.

© Witch of the Void 2025. All Rights Reserved.

FORGETTING

I remain
haunted by their absence,
wondering
how was I so easy to forget?

Hope slips further away.
A reminder
of how much time
I have left.
Surely, I must be living
someone else's life.
A sim, an experiment,
a celebration I was never
invited to.

Every connection
a reminder,
that I end up
alone.
Used.
Discarded.
I don't think I was made
to be loved,
but rather
to give love away.

Tell me,
how many times
can a heart break
before it forgets
how to beat?
Because I think mine
is forgetting.

I wonder,
is this what
life had planned for me?

TEMPORARY SHELTER

Alone, yet steady.
Awaiting arrival.
Hope and doubt,
fog of sadness.

Quiet footsteps,
knock, knock.
Eyes lock,
pitter-patter.
Guest or resident?
Unchain the door.

Cautious, wait—
slowly offer.
fuck it.
Take my heart,
rip it out.
Devour,
bleed me dry.

Departure.
No return,
to mend the wounds.
Gone.
Easily, effortlessly.
I was
intended prey
all along.

Not a home,
a fueling station.

I am
temporary shelter.

RIP IT OUT

Soft,
in a world
that hunts me.
A hungry wind
with sharpened knives.

I want to rip it out;
the softness within me.