the blade of betrayal

I taste it—sharp, metallic, like blood before the first cut, coating my tongue with the memory of promises now hollow and spent.

I feel it before I see it—
cold, lurking too close,
moving in the silence,
waiting with patient stillness
beneath the surface of every conversation,
every glance that lingers too long.

It creeps into me,
an icy current winding through my veins,
curling tight around my bones,
pressing against my chest until it’s hard to breathe.

The air thickens,
damp with the scent of iron,
a bitterness that clings to my throat,
as if the words I was meant to speak
have corroded to nothing.

I taste it—sharp, metallic,
like blood before the first cut,
coating my tongue with the memory of promises
now hollow and spent.
The taste lingers,
like a cold wind gnawing at my skin,
a bitter reminder of the words I wish I hadn’t said,
or the ones I never found the courage to speak.

And then it strikes—
not fast, but slow, deliberate,
as though savoring the parting of flesh,
the tightening of my breath,
the way my body tenses beneath its bite.
It’s a twisting agony,
burrowing deep into fragile spaces,
into places too delicate to name.
I hear i…