What a Cruel Joke

Since the day I heard—

Getting engaged.

On the day I was born?

What a cruel joke.

…

Hadn’t I carried enough wounds,

stitched into the fabric of my existence,

that you had to carve this one too?

Tell me—how do I celebrate?

Do I light candles…

or bury the ashes

of something I once wished for?

A day where joy and sorrow

share the same emotion.

What a cruel joke.

…

I honestly do fine—like, fine—

until your smell,

your name,

a song,

or something about you

finds me…

and tears me into pieces again.

…

It hurts in places

Where my own hands can’t even reach.

Like nothing helps me

stay away from you.

Nothing helps me forget

the craving… the longing… of you.

Because it’s you.

It was always you.

The lie I kept feeding my soul.

What a cruel joke.

…

Crazy, isn’t it?

Grieving someone

who’s still breathing—

just breathing in a life

where I don’t exist.

Hoping for a U-turn

on a one-way street.

But why did we meet then?

Why does it still hurt?

Why doesn’t it make sense?

Not you.

Not me.

Not what you’re doing.

Not what I’m doing.

And yet… here I am—

asking why.

Writing why.

Screaming why.

Trying to make sense…

when nothing makes sense.

What a cruel joke.

By Ray. K