The Crown You Chose

The crown of thorns

you wear so proudly

sits heavy—

each barb

woven from deceit,

each twist tightened

by another lie

spilled from your tainted lips.

And with every word—

it changes.

Not a crown.

A shroud.

Darkness unfurling,

wrapping,

layer by suffocating layer,

until all that remains

is mistrust.

I used to say:

watch your back.

Not as a warning—

but as loyalty.

As us.

But truth…

truth carves deeper than devotion.

So now I stand

at a distance—

silent.

Watching you sink

deeper

and deeper

into the forest

you grew yourself—

where roots choke,

and branches remember

every lie you fed them.

I do not follow.

I do not call out.

I do not reach.

I save no one now—

but myself

~S~