Attempting Escape

The second silence hits

She never knocks,

just slips in like smoke through the cracks.

Soft and sweet,

but always sharp around the edges—

a melody laced with poison.

She presses her palms against my chest,

whispers, “You missed me, didn’t you?”

And maybe I did,

maybe I always do.

I tell myself I’m done with her,

but when the silence falls,

I feel the weight of where she’s been,

the way she wraps herself around my bones

until I can’t breathe without her.

I try to run away,

but her hands are quick to catch me,

pull me back into the fold,

remind me how easy it is to sink

into something that feels like home,

even when it’s a cage.

I want to cry,

but the tears feel trapped,

held hostage by her smile,

her soft voice saying,

“What’s the point? No one’s listening.”

And I believe her.

Some days, I feel sunlight on my skin,

like maybe I’ve outrun her,

like maybe the warmth is enough.

But she waits in the corners,

patient as a shadow,

grinning like she always knew

I’d come back.

Because no matter how far I run,

I always find my way back to her.

Back to me.