You

You were a storm I sought to calm,
a chaos I could not ignore,
your beauty laced with sharp-edged harm,
a siren song, a fatal lore.

How fiercely I believed in you,
your fractured soul, your shattered grace,
and waged against the dark untrue,
to save the light behind your face.

But you, my love, were not the foe,
it was yourself I sought to save.
A battle fraught with ebb and flow,
that dragged me to a living grave.

You tore through me like winds through stone,
unmoved by all I gave and bled.
Each plea I made became my own,
a hollow echo in my head.

I fought for years to break the chains
you bound yourself with, link by link.
Through floods of sorrow, fires of pain,
I clung, though you began to sink.

And still, if giving all I am—
my breath, my blood, my fleeting flame—
could save you from the self you damn,
I’d gladly bear the cost, the blame.

Yet loving you was razor wire,
it stripped me bare, it left me raw.
Each act of hope became the fire
that burned away the man I saw.

You were the cure, the poison too,
the riddle I could not complete.
Your heart, the prize I never knew,
was destined always to retreat.

But even now, with scars that ache,
I cannot wish you less than whole.
For loving you, though hearts may break,
still brands its truth upon my soul.