there is an appetite in the chest that eats everything you offer it
and still wakes up starving in the middle of the night
you spend hours arranging the chairs in a room to look like safety
only to knock them over the moment someone tries to sit beside you
you watch yourself turn into a house with no lock
where every open door is a trick and every shut window is a siege
you take the phone in your palm like a bird you caught only to keep it from flying
asking the air to prove it is not planning to leave you behind
the water keeps rising until it reaches the chin of the person you love
and you call it devotion to watch them drown while trying to hold you up
you do not know how to be a harbor without also being the storm
you measure your own worth by the wreckage left in the wake
to sit in the dark and realize your own hunger has become a blade
is to stop bracing for an intruder who has no reason left to arrive
the one who breaks in was already wearing your skin and holding the knife
—lyra moon (we ask to be saved by the very fire we started)
august 27, 2026