The Last Fracture

Written 19th July // 2025

I’m dealing with some real shit again.
No dressing it up. No pretense.
Just raw, relentless ache.

I guess this is it —
The rupture.
The one that doesn’t just tear through me,
but strips the scaffolding down to the bone.

The completion of the fracturing.
Not just another break —
But the break.
The holy dismembering
so I can be remembered
right.
For the last time.

This time is different.
I can feel it in my marrow —
like a silent thunder
pressing through the hollows of my ribs.

It’s the final collapse.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just that quiet kind of ruin
where even hope seems tired of trying.

This is where it all looks over for me.
And maybe that’s the point.

The last heartbreak —
not just a crack,
but the coffin’s final nail.

Every buried grief,
every withheld scream,
every ghost I swallowed whole
came surging up like blood from an old wound.
Purged.
Thread frayed —
but not snapped.

I recoiled.
Fell back into the shadows I swore I’d outgrown.
Substances. Screens. Silence.
The familiar numbing,
as if the pain could be outpaced or outrun.

I thought by now I’d be stronger.
Wiser.
Untouchable, even.
Or at the very least —
enough.

But I fell again.
Reached for the old gods of escape
and begged them to un-feel me.

And yet —
this time, something holds.

This time,
there will be no self-sabotage.

This time,
I stay.
Even if I’m shaking.
Even if the mirror doesn’t recognize me yet.

This time,
I listen.
Not to the noise,
but to the quiet thread beneath it —
still humming,
still whole.

This time,
I don’t give up.
This time,
I make it.

All the way home.

So if you’re reading this,
if your own heart is threadbare —
keep your head up.

You’re not broken.
You’re unraveling into who you really are.
And this…
this is how the soul finally fits its body.

— A.
Still walking…