Stop Looking At Me

What part of no
did your rotting brain not understand?
What part of blocked, deleted, erased,
don’t you get?
I changed my name—
a name I carried like skin,
a name tied to my father,
to my blood,
to everything I once was.
I gave it up because of you.

I scrubbed my existence clean
from every corner of the internet,
bleached my life of any trace
that you could sniff out
like the pathetic, desperate hound you are.
And still—
you are there.
Eyes crawling over me
from places I can’t see,
obsession dripping from you
like sweat off a fevered body.

I’ve blocked you.
I’ve blocked your friends.
I’ve blocked every goddamn account
you made to claw your way back into my life.
But you just keep digging,
scraping at the edges of my existence
with nails worn to the bone
because you can’t take the hint.

I am not yours.
I have never been yours.
Your presence is not welcome.
Your eyes are not welcome.

I’m selling my company,
packing up my life,
moving to a city
you’ll never find—
all because you
can’t let go.

And it’s pathetic.

You’re pathetic.

Your obsession is not romantic.
It’s not flattering.
It’s not love.

It’s creepy.
It’s desperate.
It’s the cloying stench of mildew
in a room that’s been shut too long.
It’s the slime at the bottom of a drain
that no one wants to touch.
It’s you—
sitting there,
festering in your own delusions
because you can’t accept
that I don’t want you.

If you could just stop looking at me,
stop obsessing over me,
stop imagining some connection
that never existed,
that would be amazing.

But you won’t.
Because you can’t.
Because you’re too small,
too sad,
too empty
to fill your life with anything
other than me.

But I’m done.

Done giving you space
in my mind,
in my life,
in my world.

I’m gone.
And you?
You’re just a shadow
choking on the dust I left behind.