
Manic Panic
The Black Dahlia
- Jan 5, 2025
- 794
I am poison.
Not the fun kind.. not the beautiful, colorful venom that makes you go "wow" before it kills you.
I'm the invisible kind. The kind that leaks into the water slowly until the fish float belly-up and everyone's too confused to know why.
I ruin people without fireworks.
I ruin them quietly, with disappointment, with tired sighs, with the way I turn every kind thing sour just by existing near it too long.
I don't explode. I corrode.
I'm not even a tragic villain ... just a slow, boring disaster that everyone regrets letting in.
And the worst part?
I can't even tell if I want to be saved or if I just want someone to sink with me.
I tell myself I don't mean to hurt people. And maybe that's true. But the damage still happens, like secondhand smoke. I can watch someone's light dim and still keep talking, keep taking, keep making it about me.
I'm not a hurricane. I'm mold.
I don't crash in and destroy. I just… linger. And by the time anyone realizes I'm the reason they can't breathe right anymore, I've already seeped too deep to wash out.
The tragic part? I know I'm like this. I know I'm a weight. But I keep pretending maybe this time will be different. That I'll be better. That I won't turn warmth into ash, that I won't make someone regret knowing me.
But the pattern never breaks.
I'm the common denominator in every ruined friendship, every failed love, every awkward silence that lasts too long.
I am poison.
And I am so, so tired of watching people drink from me thinking it's water.
Not the fun kind.. not the beautiful, colorful venom that makes you go "wow" before it kills you.
I'm the invisible kind. The kind that leaks into the water slowly until the fish float belly-up and everyone's too confused to know why.
I ruin people without fireworks.
I ruin them quietly, with disappointment, with tired sighs, with the way I turn every kind thing sour just by existing near it too long.
I don't explode. I corrode.
I'm not even a tragic villain ... just a slow, boring disaster that everyone regrets letting in.
And the worst part?
I can't even tell if I want to be saved or if I just want someone to sink with me.
I tell myself I don't mean to hurt people. And maybe that's true. But the damage still happens, like secondhand smoke. I can watch someone's light dim and still keep talking, keep taking, keep making it about me.
I'm not a hurricane. I'm mold.
I don't crash in and destroy. I just… linger. And by the time anyone realizes I'm the reason they can't breathe right anymore, I've already seeped too deep to wash out.
The tragic part? I know I'm like this. I know I'm a weight. But I keep pretending maybe this time will be different. That I'll be better. That I won't turn warmth into ash, that I won't make someone regret knowing me.
But the pattern never breaks.
I'm the common denominator in every ruined friendship, every failed love, every awkward silence that lasts too long.
I am poison.
And I am so, so tired of watching people drink from me thinking it's water.