**After Everything, Your Words Are Still Empty**

After everything you all put me through,
in the quiet chambers of my mind,
your whispers echo like leaves in the wind,
once vibrant, now just remnants of ancient storms,
words that crumbled under the weight of silence,
lost in the churning tides of forgotten promises.

I stood at the precipice of your projected truths,
thrust into a labyrinth of your painted smiles,
and yes, I searched for warmth among the shadows,
but each syllable lay cold like the frost
that bites at dawn—sharp and unyielding.
You draped your narratives in intricate tapestries,
woven with threads of deceit and half-truths,
each stitch a symbol of the trust that unraveled,
unraveled like the stories you told
to mask the cracks in your façade.

My heart once fluttered at the sound of your voice,
like the first bird heralding the dawn,
but with every promise etched in fading ink,
each twist, each turn, bore its weight
in the chambers of my chest,
a reminder that words can be weapons
drenched in honeyed deceit.

Now I wander the remnants of your tales,
the landscapes littered with shreds of doubt,
seeking the essence of what was...