deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Cure That Kills
She was all sharp edges and quiet shaking,
a body built from broken glass and whispered apologies.
I found her sick with loneliness,
fed her pieces of myself like medicine,
but the cure was always temporary.
If you leave, she told me, I will shatter.
And maybe I believed it,
maybe I thought my hands could hold her together,
but my love was never steady,
never something to lean on.
She clung to me like a lifeline,
filled my phone with echoes of her panic,
her presence a storm I could never outrun.
When I stayed silent, she found me,
eyes wild, hands shaking,
like I was the last thread holding her to this world.
But I was never made to stay.
I was a drifter, restless,
always looking for the next open road.
My love was a flickering light,
bright enough to be mistaken for warmth
but never lasting long enough to keep anyone safe.
She called me sanctuary.
I was just a locked door.
She called me home.
I was already gone.
And when I left, she didn’t break,
she became something else, something stronger,
but I see her in every woman who reaches for me,
in the way their hands hesitate,
in the way their eyes search for something solid
that isn’t there.
My sin isn’t leaving.
It’s pretending I was ever meant to stay.
©DakwestDUP2025 ®MakomaPb Copyrights Reserved
a body built from broken glass and whispered apologies.
I found her sick with loneliness,
fed her pieces of myself like medicine,
but the cure was always temporary.
If you leave, she told me, I will shatter.
And maybe I believed it,
maybe I thought my hands could hold her together,
but my love was never steady,
never something to lean on.
She clung to me like a lifeline,
filled my phone with echoes of her panic,
her presence a storm I could never outrun.
When I stayed silent, she found me,
eyes wild, hands shaking,
like I was the last thread holding her to this world.
But I was never made to stay.
I was a drifter, restless,
always looking for the next open road.
My love was a flickering light,
bright enough to be mistaken for warmth
but never lasting long enough to keep anyone safe.
She called me sanctuary.
I was just a locked door.
She called me home.
I was already gone.
And when I left, she didn’t break,
she became something else, something stronger,
but I see her in every woman who reaches for me,
in the way their hands hesitate,
in the way their eyes search for something solid
that isn’t there.
My sin isn’t leaving.
It’s pretending I was ever meant to stay.
©DakwestDUP2025 ®MakomaPb Copyrights Reserved
Published 13th Feb 2025
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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13th Feb 2025 1:56am
hello Da Kwesta not everyone is made for that type of love and nobody can be someones all we all need different things from different people I wonder what is they see in you to make them think that even tell them you're not made of such great write 💕I could identify with her need when I entered the world I was ill prepared and the vultures circled my youth of all of fourteen and naive the first thing I did was hook up with a wolf to my detriment sometimes 💕
13th Feb 2025 9:50am
Hello, Crimsin, your words land softly but carry the weight of truth. Not everyone is built for a love that burns, and no one should have to be someone’s everything. But sometimes, when the storm is loud enough, even shadows start to look like shelter. I often wonder what they see in me, maybe the illusion of safety, a flickering lighthouse that makes them forget the sea is hungry. I hear your story in the way you speak, entering the world unarmed, vultures circling, and the first embrace hiding teeth beneath soft words. That kind of need can be a dangerous thing, shaping us before we even understand its cost. But we live, don’t we? Not untouched, not unscarred.... But we live.
