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Love's Dark Reflection #lovepoetry #poetrydaily #poemaday

Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
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I'm Slowly Fading #sadpoetry #life #pain #heartbreak

I'm slowly fading,
not all at once,
not enough for the world to notice,
just quietly,
like a shadow losing its shape
at the edge of dusk.

My heart grows weaker
With each passing day,
beating not with purpose
but with persistence,
as if it, too, is unsure
why it continue?

There was a time
it knew how to feel fully,
how to rise without fear,
How to carry light
without trembling beneath it.

Now it stutters,
hesitates,
like it’s learning how to exist
inside a body
that has forgotten how to live.

And my soul…
My soul has wandered.

It no longer asks for direction,
no longer waits for permission.
It drifts where it pleases,
pulled by something unseen,
something darker
than I ever meant to follow.

A path unfolds beneath me,
cold and endless,
lit not by hope
but by the faint glow
of everything I’ve lost.

And still,
I walk it.

Not because I want to,
But because I no longer know
How to turn back.

I am slowly fading.

I feel it
in the silence that grows louder,
in the emptiness that stretches wider,
in the way, even breathing
feels like effort.

Yet I am still breathing.

Isn’t that strange?

That a body can continue
while everything inside it
quietly unravels,
thread by fragile thread.

Each breath feels borrowed,
like time that was never meant for me.
Each moment feels uncertain,
like standing on the ground
that might give way
without warning.

And I don’t know
if I will survive this.

Not the way I was.
Not whole.
Not untouched.

There is a question
that lingers in every heartbeat:

How much of me will remain
By the time this ends?

But somewhere,
buried beneath the weight,
beneath the dark pull of this path,
beneath the fading,

There is still a whisper.

Small.
Almost gone.
But stubborn.

A quiet wish
that refuses to die.

I want my strength back.

Not the kind that pretends,
not the kind that hides the cracks,
but the kind that stands
even while breaking.

I want to feel steady again.
To breathe
without wondering if it will be enough.
To walk
without fearing where the ground might vanish.

I want to return
to something that feels like me,
or at least
to someone I can recognize.

So I keep breathing.

Even now.
Even here.
Even as I fade.

Because maybe,
just maybe,
There is still a version of me
waiting beyond this darkness,
not untouched,
not unscarred,
but alive.

And until I know for certain,
I will hold onto this fragile truth:

I am fading…
But I am not gone.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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