I keep my face on silent mode.
Yours ships with prayer hands.
When we pass, the streetlights vote.
Guess who glitches, who gets called a storm.
I file feelings like invoices.
You comp the room and call it mercy.
When the scaffolding drops, the crowd points at the one
already carrying the warnings.
You’re pure the way snow is, until a tire finds it.
I’m a stair without railings, use at your own risk.
Together we make headlines that say “incident,”
but the photo only prints my shadow.
We are the same in the places no one knows:
hairline glass, soft alarms, the old animal that hates empty bowls.
We are different in public:
you do velvet, I do truth.
I told you not to touch the red wire.
You touched it and practiced innocence.
I learned to hold the current without blinking
so the room could go on pretending the lights weren’t mine.
Call me the problem; it paints faster.
You keep “gentle,” I keep “warning.”
We both crack. Only one of us gets labeled the hammer.
You swindle with a choir in the background.
I refuse the ribbon and become the bruise.
When I fell, you logged surprise like a souvenir.
Tell me again you needed me.
You only needed an exit that applauds.
If a culprit must be chosen, pick the one who doesn’t beg.
Fine. Take the halo. Keep the sound off.
I’ll keep the sirens in my mouth.
We both know who paid in body.
We both know who got a refund.
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