Am I beyond saving?
Is this silence permanent?
Is this pain just penance in disguise?
or is it the weight of change dragging me forward?
The truth is—if I change,
I want it to be for her.
Not for the next empty word called “love.”
I want it to be real this time.
Not performative. Not reactive.

We were passionate, raw,
a force to be reckoned with.

We waged war with hearts still tethered.
Fitted like puzzle pieces carved in chaos—
Two magnets caught in a dance of push and pull.

Still, we were a team. A twin flame.
Bonnie & Clyde.
We loved with force and vibrance.
Peace, and malice.
Wicked and delighted.
We were not the calm,
but the storm that washes away the pain.
So, I pray in the quiet corners of my mind
that she’s somewhere, doing the same—
growing, healing, hurting, hoping.
That this is the cocoon phase.

Before the miracle of us begins again.

I feel myself

atrophy
Thoughts, splayed
like beautiful, oiled legs
in a ******* centerfold...
Thoughts, disarrayed
in a state of feeble decay
I'm taken apart,
deconstructed
What's a brain, with a broken vessel,
what's a spine,
when the medulla oblongata,
falls,
to a gelatinous mush?

put me away, piece by piece
in boxes
that open, to reveal,
smaller boxes, and smaller boxes still
I become...miniscule... miniature
inconsequential,
in the great nature of things

a little wooden matryoshka doll, being peeled from its shell
layer by layer...
but what if the innermost chamber
is hidden, under lock and key

and what if you crack it open, to find
your fingers are smeared,
in the pungency, of my blood?

It matters not...
I drift skyward...no tether,
to pull me down, to earth again
and there's not enough oxygen,
to breathe,
as I drift through space...
but if I return to Earth...

the sudden resurgence of gravity
will bring me crashing,
to the ground.

...And it all...Goes...Black.

mirror on the wall reflects my pain
it is a witness of my harsh reality
the pain i romanticized about someone
is a fake reflected image of my thoughts
the pain i never wished to tear my flesh
is the real persona i try to hide

I was always on my own
even when i was deserted by you
for months, your silence haunted me
and a battle continued to rage in my heart
as i set out to seek the answers-
"are you there? are you alive?"
that futile simmer turned gray
which was meant to be full of love
i held meetings in my mind
my heart was asking to believe you
but my mind concluded you betrayed me

this affair was never fated to turn into love
something that started under the moon and stars
something that was ill fated from beginning
now who should i blame? you or me?
i carried us up the summit
but you and i were both sick
the clouds were turning gray
and everything began to disappear in the haze
the castles we built, the promises we made
turned out to be a mirage in my mind
you never meant a thing
i was a tool to fulfill your greed
a savior in times of crisis but you forgot about me
i longed for your love whole summer
even when i knew i was a prey

Here in this suffering, this crucible womb,
The known gods falter, their altars go blind.
Each creed, once golden, now echoes of doom,
Are stripped by the blaze of a self left behind.

The fire, a trickster, conjured by me,
Fed on illusions, I named as my truth,
Burned every surety, scorched every plea,
And laughed in the voice of my long-lost youth.

Beliefs like paper, curled in despair,
Whispered of meaning as smoke drew near;
No prayer could escape, no breath of air,
Only silence now, and the sting of fear.

Oh, sacred pyre, dark alchemist flame,
You steal without mercy, without regret.
Yet in your furnace, I learn my name,
One I had buried, one I’d forget.

Entombed in ash, no breath, no form,
Not dead, but held in the hush of becoming.
This, the still of the spiral storm,
Where soul sheds skin and blood stops drumming.

And then...

In the hush, a tremor, soft as thought.
From soot, from ruin, from what was unmade,
A flicker, a shimmer, a heartbeat caught,
A wing unfolds in the charcoal shade.

Phoenix, I rise, raw, unmasked, untried,
No longer chained to the truths I knew.
From the furnace of lies and the self that died,
Emerges a being fierce and new.

More beautiful now for the burn I bore,
More sovereign now for the faith I lost,
For to rise is not to be as before,
But to bear the bloom that survived the cost.