Part V · Reclamation
Inherited Ruin
The air is thick, toxic—
smothering the version of me I showed only to you.
Looking back, you never wanted this—
the white picket fence, the PTA, the suburban dream.
You craved chaos, the military, escape—
anything to outrun the pain of your past.
A nomad bound by trauma,
haunted by relentless self-talk—
a final gift in the death of us.
You abandoned us for sinful desires,
for any man who smiled your way.
I think you learned that from her.
Without your pain, maybe
things would’ve been different.