the pride, the performance of it, it makes my stomach coil into a knot so tight it pulls at the ache that lives in my shoulder. like a goddamn phantom meeting, the ones where i used to grind my teeth down until my jaw throbbed, all for what? for THAT? for some badge worn on a chest that doesn’t understand what it actually costs? what it costs to unmake yourself from that machine, piece by fucking piece. that's not ambition, that's a slow burn. and it makes me want to scream.