THE CRUSHING

excavation to the soul

What is it in me
that needed to be crushed again?

What in my karmic script
demanded another rerun of pain?

Why did I summon
another narcissist in borrowed skin?
A past-life debt?
A curse etched in my marrow?

A wound with my name on it
that I keep carving open,
just to prove I can still bleed?

Holding my heart
as it splits like glass under heat,
silently screaming~

He can choke on the hell he carried in.
Rot in the fire he lit.
May his lies turn to ash on his tongue.
And fuck the next one who kneels at his altar,
who’ll sip his poison,
call it holy wine,
and mistake his chaos for love.

Cutting the cords.
I’m done.
So fucking done.
Let it crush.
Let it break me clean,
so I can finally stop pretending
I’m unbreakable.

---

THE REBUILD

But maybe this breaking
wasn’t ruin~
it was ritual.
An unholy baptism
to drown the ghost of who I was.

Maybe destruction
is just the doorway to return.

The crushing carved space
for something sacred.
The silence after the storm
whispers like a prayer
that sounds almost like peace.

The ache hums softer now,
like a heartbeat
learning to trust itself again.

I sweep up the shards,
gather the fragments,
press them to my skin
until they glitter with defiance.

I won’t beg the wound to close.
I’ll bleed until it tells the truth.
Cry until it’s clean.
Forgive myself
for worshipping false gods
and mistaking manipulation for magic.

He was the lesson.
I was the altar.
And now~
I am the resurrection.
The ash that still burns.
The flame that refuses to die.
The heart that still beats
after breaking.

Let it crush me again~
if that’s the price
of feeling anything at all.

🖤