When the Sky Screams, So Do I

Every firework is a fist—
a scream lit sky-high—
and I flinch like I’m back
on that sand,
his breath in my ear,
the weight,
the silence swallowing me whole.

I lose a breath
every boom,
chest tight like his grip,
lungs gasping for a god
that never came.

My skin remembers.
My blood still speaks.
The blade hums a lullaby—
quick, sharp, real.
It listens when no one else will.

Alcohol burns
but not like him—
it’s softer.
Kinder.
It lets me drown
without hands on my throat.

I try to forget,
but the past reloads
and explodes
every July sky,
every scream-colored light
a reminder
that I survived
but never escaped.