THE EGO'S SHATTERING BOMBS

 

The Ego's Shattering BombsTonight, the bomb-traps of ego explode in savage fury,
shrapnel of pride ripping through the fragile air,
keeping you all frantic, bloodied in the blaze—
flexing that merciless internal locus of control,
a starving locust swarm devouring every last shred
of mercy, of humility, of us. How brutally quick you turned—
from friend who once held my breaking nights,
from constant comrade who knew my scars by heart,
into this cold, unrecognizable stranger
whose eyes now glint with contempt.
The betrayal burns like acid in my throat. We once balanced on a knife-edge of grace—
giving and taking in trembling, sacred rings of reciprocity,
each breath a promise, each touch a vow returned.
Now the scales scream under your endless taking,
leaving me hollowed out, gasping,
a wasteland where tenderness used to grow. These weeks I’ve swallowed silence like broken glass,
watching the betrayals stack higher and higher—
a towering pyre of unnoticed wounds,
each one a fresh cut I pretended not to feel
until the blood soaked through everything.
My chest aches with the weight of what I will not say. I flung the door open for you—
bared my raw, trembling soul,
handed you the map to my boundaries,
the rules of engagement written in my own blood.
Yet at the end of the evening,
ego still roared its ugly triumph,
trampling the bridge we’d barely crossed,
leaving me choking on the smoke of what almost was. I will not chase.
I will not beg.
I will not plead on my knees for crumbs of your remorse.
If I clutch the puzzle pieces of a life you suddenly crave—
the stability, the depth, the light you threw away—
then you will have to crawl through your own wreckage,
change until your bones ache,
and scream the apologies loud enough to shatter your pride. But even if I forgave you tonight,
if I let the poison of hope flood back in,
I’d only be carving a deeper grave for my heart—
dooming myself to the same crushing disappointment
when the cycle spins again.
We are inevitable, yes—
inevitably toxic,
inevitably ruinous,
inevitably done. I choose the agony of walking away
over the slow death of staying.
Let the bombs keep falling.
I am already gone.