I opened the door. Let you in. Showed you the rooms I never showed anyone. The cracks, the stains, the darkness that chews at me from the inside. I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d stay. But the moment I let you see what I was made of— you flinched. Stepped back. Turned away. You moved me to the edges of your life like a thing you didn’t want to touch again. Like I was dirt you’d brushed off your hands. And then— silence. No goodbye. Just distance. Just me, left in the same dark room I had once opened for you— except now your absence rots here too, spreading through me like mold. You didn’t just leave. You threw me to the wolves inside my own chest. And now they eat.