Cartography of Broken Stars: Faultlines in My Blood #poetry

The ground beneath me splits—
raw, jagged, unfurling like a broken jaw
I feel the tremor before the shake,
feel it in my teeth, feel it in the air I can’t quite swallow.
Foundations—my foundations—give way,
not all at once,
no, cruelty is methodical.
Slow first, seductive in its collapse,
then,
then—terrifying velocity.
Silence howls inside me, louder than any goddamn scream
I ever threw at your back.

The chasm opens—
between my ribs, across the dinner table,
under the bed where we once touched like we meant it.
It stretches wide, unbridgeable,
a canyon of things unsaid,
things sharpened into blades.

My words—
I sharpen them like knives,
you do too.
Cruelty becomes currency,
a tender we exchange with shaking hands.
Each syllable cuts, deeper,
deeper,
until trust lies splintered underfoot,
a mosaic of irreparable pieces, glinting and sharp,
mocking the sunlight.

I stare at my reflection,
a cracked mirror—
I do not recognize the ghost staring back.
Where did I go?
Where did you go?
Estranged, alien in a familiar skin.
This house—this fucking house—
is thick with resentment,
the walls bleeding unspoken accusations.

You promised me.
I promised you.
We shattered it all, like fragile glass hurled at concrete,
each promise detonated mid-air,
sparkling, tragic.

Shared dreams dissolve into dust motes,
scattered by sighs we don’t even hear anymore.
The severance is surgical, brutal,
exposing a nerve I never knew I carried.

Love?
Ash, cold ash,
staining my hands, staining my bed,
gray fingerprints on my ribs.

We rage.
Oh, how we rage.
Storms of blame, hurricanes of accusation,
no shelter left, no peace to be bought.

I weep.
I weep until there is nothing left inside me
but hollow ache.
Grief floods the ruins, washing away
the little dignity we clutched.

The memories—
once gold, once warm,
are now rusted barbs.
I touch them and bleed.

Our future—
it vaporizes before my eyes,
smoke where there was once a path.
And I ache.
God, how the heart aches,
not metaphorical,
a physical wound, a cavern inside my chest.

The distance grows,
inches stacking into miles,
until I can no longer see your face
without squinting through the hurt.

Communication?
A battlefield.
Words are grenades now, not bridges.
Misunderstandings reign like petty kings,
assumptions their cruel jesters.

Intimacy?
A ghost.
It haunts the living room,
flickers in the spaces between our footsteps.

No more laughter.
Only the wet slap of silence.

Resentment festers,
coiled around my gut like smoke,
poisoning every small mercy left.

We point fingers.
You, me,
a choreography of guilt,
no one stepping forward,
everyone falling back.

The apologies—
thin paper dolls,
crumpled at the edges, insincere.
I say sorry,
you say sorry,
no one listens.
No one believes.

Hope—
hope rots.
Hope crumbles like old bread in my hands.

Anger ignites,
a thousand unsaid words catching fire in my throat.
I burn from the inside out.

The connection, the tether, the thing that once pulled us close—
snaps.
So fast.
Like a whip crack across my soul.

I feel the void—
heavy, terrifying, endless.

Love doesn’t die quietly.
It gasps, it wails, it claws at the walls.
It begs.

Or maybe it is murdered,
quick and clean.

The dreams—
they litter the floor now, broken glass,
and I do not pick them up.

The future—
blank, a blindfold, a cliff.
I dare not step forward.

My heart is a war zone.
Landmines, everywhere.
I tiptoe inside my own ribs.

The distance is absolute.
I lose you.
You lose me.
We lose us.

No more words.
Only silence, thick and endless.

Intimacy freezes over,
a pond in a dead winter.

The laughter—
I remember it only in echoes.
It sounds cruel now.
It sounds foreign.

Resentment hardens into hate.
A bitter stone lodged inside my chest.

We still point fingers.
The ritual never ends.

Apologies dry up.
What use are they now?

Hope—
dead.
Dead as the flowers on the windowsill,
dead as the bed we no longer share.

Anger?
It remains.
A constant drumbeat under my skin.

The crash—
oh, the crash is complete.
Total devastation.
Nothing left to salvage.

Just wreckage.
Just me, sitting in the ashes,
staring at a ghost that used to be you.

#Poetry #Heartbreak #EmotionalCollapse #ExistentialPain #BrokenDreams #RawEmotions #Loss #Silence #Resentment #Alienation