candid fox
I didn’t break when you left—
I buckled, then bit down.
Not stone, not glass—
but alloy now.
What bent got burned.
What cracked got crowned.
I stripped the softness from my frame,
poured grit where grief had grown.
Melted your name down,
poured it straight
into the steel of my backbone.
Cut off the hand
that kept reaching back.
Let it fall. Let it smoke.
I forged the scar
into something exact—
not a wound, but a weapon
I know how to hold.
Didn’t need closure,
just kindling and time.
A silence to shape me.
A rhythm to climb.
You won’t find me
in the places I stayed.
I was metal in waiting—
now I’m war remade.
No haunting, no hollow.
No aching echo.
Just the echo of boots
on a path I chose—
and sparks at my heels
as I walk it alone.
And when I write, as always—
my fingers burn.
violet wigeon
jagged cape