🔥 I Burn Villages, Not Bridges

Let’s get something straight: I don’t burn bridges.
Bridges are for people who hope to come back and apologize. Bridges are concessions, limp excuses, little insurance policies wrapped in brownie points.

I BURN VILLAGES.

When I decide you’re done, I don’t leave a polite exit sign or a half-apology on the kitchen table. I clear the architecture of whatever held you together — the stories, the rituals, the little permission slips you used to hide behind. I clear the map and make the place uninhabitable for the lies that fed you.

People call that “irrational.” They say I’m dramatic, vindictive, unstable.

Cute. Right?

What they don’t say (because they don’t want to admit they need me) is that I plan the blast radius. I measure consequences like a surgeon measures margins after removing the cancerous mass. I know what will burn and what will survive. I know when scorched earth is the only honest terrain left.

And I salt the earth in my wake, so that no lie may take root therein again.

This is not chaos for chaos’s sake.
This is refusal.
This is boundary as ordinance.

If you forced me to choose between a slow rot of deceit and a hard, honest collapse;
I’ll light the match every time.

Yes, I’m petty.
Yes, I cry in the middle of the grocery aisle.
Yes, I will say something mean at 2 a.m. when the world is quiet.

🚩 Callout

If you only love me for my cleanup skills, don’t expect a loyalty discount.

I do the hard work, and I collect on it.

Respect the annihilation.