flâneur

to change you must be born again - by shyam

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You peel your skin off, layer by layer, as if it was never meant to fit you in the first place. There is no blood, only the sound of something ripping apart, like old fabric stretched too thin. You tell yourself it doesn’t hurt, but the ache lingers, a ghost trapped beneath your ribs. It is the price of starting over, this slow, deliberate unraveling. People say self-destruction is the death knell, the end of something. They don’t understand how necessary it is, how the collapse is not just an ending but a beginning. There is a kind of grace in falling apart, a certain beauty in undoing yourself piece by piece. Not a violent unmaking, but a quiet, deliberate dissolution—one that feels almost necessary. You sit in the stillness of your own decay, watching the fragments of your old self drift away like ash in the wind, wondering if this is what rebirth is supposed to feel like. You can’t be reborn until you’ve burned every part of yourself down to ash, until there’s nothing left of the p

to change you must be born again with each love i cut lose, i was never the same shyam Oct 04, 2024 515 23 167 Share You peel your skin off, layer by layer, as if it was never meant to fit you in the first place. There is no blood, only the sound of something ripping apart, like old fabric stretched too thin. You tell yourself it doesn’t hurt, but the ache lingers, a ghost trapped beneath your ribs. It is the price of starting over, this slow, deliberate unraveling. People say self-destruction is the death knell, the end of something. They don’t understand how necessary it is, how the collapse

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