The Tower Of Us

I pull The Fool — and there we are, jumping off cliffs, calling it fate, mistaking freefall for chemistry.
I pull The Lovers — and there we are again, naked in our delusion, pretending choice isn’t a knife.
I pull The Tower, and it’s you, burning everything holy just to feel the heat.

You always said you were “healing, but your medicine was manipulation.
Your pharmacy stocked with guilt.
You faked a diagnosis and I still brought flowers.
I read your birth chart and it screamed Deception Rising, Sun in Self‑Pity.

I loved you like The Star — hopeful, raw, pouring light into your drought.
You loved me like The Seven of Swords, slipping out the back door with my trust in your mouth.
You said I’m too intense, I said I’m the Queen of Wands — what did you expect, moderation?
I act in oceans, not teaspoons.

You were The Magician reversed — sleight of hand, smiling while hiding the wound you caused.
Every “sorry” a smoke trick.
Every confession a disappearing act.

We love‑bombed each other like The Devil upright — chains disguised as jewelry, touches disguised as penance.
I called it devotion, you called it leverage.
You flirted through collect calls, cast spells through static, and when I asked for truth you shuffled excuses like cards.

I became The Chariot, dragging the wreck forward while you whispered detours.
You became The Hermit reversed, alone by choice, lonely by design.
I pulled Justice, and she laughed — said balance was a myth between a healer and a con artist.

You cheated like The Moon itself — soft, silver lies reflecting back my own illusions.
I stayed like The Hanged Man, thinking suspension was sacrifice, not self‑abandonment.
I built altars out of your absence.
Lit candles for closure.

Pulled Temperance and poured the cup out anyway.
You said I was too much.
You meant I was a mirror.
You meant I saw you —
Judgment upright, and you hated the sound of your own reckoning.

You lied.
You wept.
You said you were sick.
And I believed you because I’m The Empress, and nurturing is both my gift and my curse.

You wanted power.
I wanted peace.
You got to vanish behind walls;
I got to sweep up the ashes of our oracle.

So yeah — we were both bad at love.
But I was Death upright — ending what hurt so something real could rise.
You were The World reversed — unfinished lesson, unlearned empathy.

I held the deck.
You hid the cards.
You wanted magic without the accountability.
And when the reading was done, you asked who lost.

I said:
“Check the spread.”

I’m The Tower — and you’re the smoke.