I don’t remember when it started—

the weight, the heat, the slow decay.

I used to build from broken things,

but now I just sweep them away.

The mirror’s dull,

my voice is thin,

like I’m mouthing truth

through someone else’s skin.

I was the calm in every storm,

but somehow I forgot

if I ever liked the rain.

I burn without flames,

just a quiet collapse.

No screams, no smoke—

just a fade that never snaps.

They say I used to shine—

but that was circumstance.

I’ve been

ashes in advance.

I gave like it was breathing—

automatic, without ask.

They called it grace,

but never saw

the fracture in the mask.

My thoughts are echoes

I no longer chase—

just outlines in

an empty space.

I smiled through rooms

where I didn’t fit,

and called it strength

just to survive it.

I burn without flames,

a flicker they forget.

Not enough to notice,

too much to reset.

They loved the glow—

but not the aftermath.

Now I’m

ashes in advance.

I don’t want to hate the world.

But it never held me back.

It just watched

as I cracked.

No more poems for pain,

no more staged romance.

This isn’t falling—

this is trance.

I’m not the flame.

I’m not the chance.

I was

ashes

in advance.