Too Late To Stay

Heart offline, mind in spin,

cleaning rooms I’ll never live in.

(“don’t think, just move…”)

You talk like it’s fixable — it’s not.

Years of cracks, now all I’ve got

is noise and dust, and a pulse gone grey,

I keep the house clean so I don’t decay.

Eyes dry, but my hands still shake,

I smile so no one sees the ache.

You say, “we could try again,”

but I’ve run out of pretend.

My heart’s on sleep mode,

you’re too late to reload.

It’s too late to stay —

I’m already gone,

just walking circles till the pain moves on.

You broke the trust, now there’s no way,

I’m not leaving — I’ve already faded away.

(“you should’ve cared… before I stopped.”)

Scrub the walls, erase the sound,

you breathe upstairs — I tune it down.

Every plate I wash, every floor I sweep,

is one less thought I have to keep.

You think I’m calm, but I’m not okay,

I’m just busy enough to keep you at bay.

You still talk about “maybe someday,”

but that version of me burned away.

Now I ghost through what’s left behind,

too tired to cry, too angry to mind.

It’s too late to stay —

I’m already gone,

the echo of me’s what you’re holding on.

You broke the trust, now there’s no way,

I’m not leaving — I’ve already faded away.

(“don’t look for me…”)

I keep the rhythm — mop, wipe, breathe,

count the tiles so I don’t leave.

You think I’m still yours — I’m not,

you lost me long before you thought.

It’s too late to stay —

I’m empty, clean,

rewriting what “forever” means.

You talk, I drift,

you reach — I break,

too late, too late —

to stay.

(“I’m gone…”)