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Letter to the dead-minded.


Loss if often something that sits well. Because well, of course it’s mere definition: the state or feeling of grieve when deprived of something or someone of value.

Regardless of upbringing or preparation from someone of influence, the absence of a being that still holds breath in his lungs is a disconnect.

To be so in tuned and connected that knowing the separation does not make sense either.

A childhood protector, my hero, the product of hustle, the example of an unfortunate upbringing turned success story. All attributes notable to look up to.

Traits that would be more helpful and useful in my journey through early adulthood.

Instead, I’m breathless on the floor gasping for direction, understanding & support that was formerly a latch on to my existence.

A foundation that’s built on a facade of lies and the fabled, manipulated version of events will never end in fairytale.

To fall in lust for women outside the one you pledged vows, never a fundamental concept I’d expect my future bearings to accept.

It was never the “SHE” in particular that was the problem, it’s always been YOU. Your ways of communicating and prioritizing has never been a strong suit.

This quality of yours I bequeathed. We give our whole self to those that want to strip us, and bedrape part of ourselves to the ones that want to keep us warm.

In my case, the ones who once warmed; were the first to cook me alive. Every day felt like an open wound in a tank of sharks, I knew you could smell out the blood, but rather circle my conscious until the attack was congruous.

Like a slow death. One that eats at the mind and patience, which is far worse than any bodily arm. Everyday was egg shells on a tight rope and my balance was shit. Every day felt like enduring slow stabs to the chest from the inside out with a squeaky clean cat scan.

It was not until my own flesh stripped me down to beneath that, when I made that decision. That decision to not restitch the old pieces, but to allow a fresh layer to evolve.

After being thrust into an institution of no requital as a result of the anguish from the past year & half, I knew something had to change. That something was you.

The schizophrenic repeating of some financial backing that hadn’t existed for some time. Your ever demand to slave-like cleaning requests of your messes that should have been my “sign of gratitude for shelter” that of which I was stripped of at least once a week.

There were only so many hours in each day, 85% of them strategically planned on how many responsible and respectful ways I could slip away casually. It was a relief to everyone's life except my own.


I knew I couldn't sleep like this any longer. I had to let you go. Deny any attempts of rug sweeping. I wanted you to feel it. I could not accept anything short of the truth any longer.


To think that my protector has now become who i have to guard myself from is a crippling thought.


To have so much self-love to have released all that murdered me in my past, a simple text to leave me breathless again, standing still.


Feelings of a long-time released grudgy bitterness, mixed with recently accepted progression to his absence.


A current devil vs angel altercation dramatically foot stomping on each collarbone.


An undeniable obligation to probationary period with an even stronger urge to cock my arm back and launch that key into the deepest of waters.


A revisitation to the scorched bridge.


Reigniting to the candle that singed my mere sanity that was never fully repossessed.


But to this proverb I devout...


"the ashes will fly back into the face of him who throws them."



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