A poem
June 19, 2026Fallout
I picked myself up,
perhaps from the ashes of my own soul.
Am I really this strong,
or is this just survival pretending to be strength?
Maybe yes.
Because a person is strongest
in the moment just before they fall apart.
And after that,
they turn to ashes.
But ashes remember.
They hold every wound.
Every poison swallowed behind empty walls,
They carry the weight of each lifetime.
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