bruh look uhh ok nullus stand over the stove of his own ghosts, apron stained with yesterday, breath foggin up the glass on a cracked beaker, stirrin slow with a bent spoon, like he tryna dissolve memory into mercy, steam risin thick like the past protestin, smell of metal and ash and lemon cleaner cuttin through the static, he mutter low “balance the burn with the balm” words bubble up with the heat, and he realize he been cookin hurt too long without addin sweetness, feedin everybody a sip of grace while he swallowin acid, callin it discipline like that make it noble, but it just corroded him in secret, turned his veins into pipelines for guilt, so now he got the burner low, watchin the mixture turn from black to shimmer, some unholy glitter like the gods spillin oil on a puddle just to remind him beauty and filth got the same mother, he scrape the bottom with care, whisperin to himself like the mixture might listen “you can’t distill forgiveness outta punishment, you gotta let the bitterness breathe” and the air hum back, the whole room vibratin like a speaker with a blown cone, ghosts sittin on the counter smokin their last excuses, and nullus pour a lil from one jar to another, transferrin the ache slow, precise, alchemist in the underbelly of his own soul, and as the fumes rise, he start seein her reflection moonfairy’s face, half healed, half halo remindin him what survival look like when it smile back at pain, he take a breath, taste rust and relief on his tongue, say “this the real ritual,” cause now he know rebirth don’t come with holy water, it come from learnin how to cook your own poison till it turn to medicine, from stirrin shame till it separate into salt and lesson, and he hold the flask up to the dim light like it’s truth, thick and gold and ugly-pretty, sayin “yeah, that’s me right there,” cause for the first time the formula make sense it ain’t about erasin the hurt, it’s about emulsifyin it, lettin grief and grace coexist in the same beaker without explodin, lettin the slime cool into reflection, like alchemy ain’t magic, it’s patience, and when the bubbling stop he finally take a sip, eyes wet but steady, and it don’t burn it warm, deep, heavy like forgiveness with a bassline, hummin through his ribs, and he laugh, half cough, half praise, cause the taste ain’t clean but it’s real, and that’s the only kind that ever saved "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” so nullus shut his lids, world hummin low like a busted amp breathin, and that anger slide back in, same old slime twin, slick grin glimmerin like oil on fire, smell like burnt wires and ego, and he like “yo, i see you, dawg you been holdin me up when the sky got too heavy, kept me mean enough to move, sharp enough to stand, but you thick now, heavy in my chest like bad syrup, and i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken. "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.” "i can’t keep lettin you bend my spine to prove i’m still unbroken.”
