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- analysis of a toxic encounter.
My poetic dissertation, as it were.
written: @toppraddd
graphic: unknown
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They entered softly—
never like thunder.
No.
Thunder announces itself.
they arrived like warm light through half-open blinds,
like someone who already knew the architecture of your loneliness.
Their smile—
surgically human.
Their voice—
aged honey over shattered
They memorized
your fractures by candlelight,
then later pressed fingers directly into them.
That was their talent.
Not destruction at first—
but calibration.
A slow turning
of emotional screws.
They praised you publicly,
diminished you privately.
Fed you affection
through an eyedropper.
One day:
sunrise.
Next day:
absence colder than abandoned churches.
Soon,
you apologized for things you did not break.
You learned the geography
of their moods—
stepping carefully
through conversational minefields,
trying not to awaken the creature beneath the charm.
But toxic people
are rarely monsters outright.
Monsters are easy.
Toxic people become mirrors.
They convince you
your exhaustion is imagination,
your instincts are overreaction,
your pain—
a personal failure of endurance.
And while you withered,
they flourished.
Fed by confusion.
Watered by control.
You began disappearing
in microscopic pieces—
first your certainty,
then your laughter,
then the strange little freedoms
that make a person recognizable
to themselves.
Until one morning
you looked into a bathroom mirror,
saw someone surviving themselves.
That was the awakening.
Not dramatic.
Not cinematic.
Just quiet horror.
Like discovering the water you’ve been drinking
has been poisoned for years.
So you left.
And the silence afterward
felt unnatural—
because chaos had become your heartbeat.
Healing did not arrive as fireworks.
It arrived like unclenching.
Like sleeping through the night
without fear of emotional weather.
Like hearing your own thoughts again
without their fingerprints on them.
And somewhere,
far beyond their gravity,
you remembered:
Love does not require erosion
to prove itself.
* end
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