He Looked Right Through Me: Lyrical Microfiction — (Monologue from the Perspective of a Disturbed Mind)

He called me by my name.

No one ever does that.

They pretend.

They walk around me like I’m furniture with eyes.

But he didn’t.

He looked straight at me.

Said something like,

“You okay, man?”

That cracked something open.

It was too kind. Too clear.

He saw what wasn’t meant to be seen.

The voices started again.

Soft, then louder.

They always come when I feel warm.

They hate the warmth.

They told me what he was.

Said he knew too much.

Said he would unmake me.

Said he was the storm.

I remember his voice.

His face—

That last second

Before it all turned black-red static.

I didn’t want to.

I swear.

But the air got sharp, like knives in my lungs.

And the voices—

God, the voices were so loud.

I touched his shoulder.

He didn’t flinch.

He still thought I was someone worth saving.

And then—

It happened.

Everything after that was water and screaming glass.

I think I cried.

Or maybe it was rain.

Or maybe it was guilt trying to grow

where nothing lives anymore.

They asked me why.

At the station.

So calm. So slow.

Like they wanted the answer to fit in a box.

I just said the only truth I had left:

“The voices told me to do it.”

©️Lyia Meta

Image by WiX

Backstory

The weight behind the words

My upcoming album SUNDERED and Reforged: Between Shadows and Salvation is dedicated to my kid brother, Leo Christopher.

His life was taken by a man.

Someone he knew—

but who was not a friend.

The story above is told from the killer’s perspective. I chose this voice not to excuse him, but to confront the madness behind his actions. To peel back the silence and see what might fester in the mind of someone who kills without cause.

As for Leo's own experience in those final moments—

that is a darkness I cannot bear to explore.

I’ve tried. But my thoughts circle it like a black hole.

I imagine the split-second realizations,

the confusion,

the breath caught in his chest...

and it destroys me every time.

Because of this, I keep my circle small.

There are very few people in my life.

Trust is a fragile thing—

a gentle veil that lulls you into believing you’re safe.

Until it shreds...

and you're left trying to survive the wreckage.

This album, in all its grief and chaos and brutal light, is my offering.

It’s how I scream, cry, remember.

How I endure. And this is only the tip of the iceberg.

For Leo.

Always.