The Descent (For Him) Poem by Angel Rose Romance

By the time you find me, I'll be whole.

The chart lay torn beneath the moon,
The alchemy spoiled much too soon.
A child lost—not to time or fate,
But hands that whispered love as hate.

In the chaos, she unraveled clean—
No screams, no fire, just spaces between.
She vanished not to run, but reclaim,
Returned to her camper, erased her name.

Mirrors cracked in her sacred space,
But every shard still held her face.
Not the girl who smiled to keep peace,
But the woman who bleeds without cease.

She burned the letters, dried the ink,
Let herself collapse, let herself think.
The descent was holy, not insane—
A spiral staircase through her pain.

She wrote new glyphs in candle smoke,
Sipped bitter roots, invoked the oak.
She danced in silence, wept with trees,
Sewed moonlight into torn beliefs.

'He must see me as I am, ' she swore.
'Not as I was, not needing more.
If he returns, he'll find me whole—
Fire-fed, steel-souled, not begging roles.'

And still, she kept the drink beside,
A second glass for when stars collide.
Should he return with hands unclosed,
She'll know—the chart, the wound—it shows.