surrah698

[surrah698]

You ever seen grief hold its breath so long it grows fangs?

Stick around.

I’m about to exhale...

He broke my favorite thing. So I broke the version of me that cared.

I do not forgive the architects. I piss on blueprints and scream in Morse. Politeness is a chokehold. And sanity? A PR stunt for people who still trust chairs.

My nervous system is a haunted funhouse where every door leads to a memory I didn’t ask for... and the mirrors whisper in voices that sound like me but worse. There are landmines stitched into my muscle memory. I walk funny now. I love funny now...

I do not regulate—I detonate. I stim like a seance. I cry like a siren. If you're here for healing, I hope you brought bandages and superglue. If you're here for vibes, bring sage, an exorcist, and a stuffy.

Some of us didn’t break—we evolved asymmetrically. My joy has claws. My grief gets invited to the afterparty. I don't self-soothe—I self-summon. And if I start laughing in the middle of a trauma flashback, that’s just me folding time into a paper swan and feeding it to the void. I’m not looking for peace. I’m looking for witnesses. Welcome to the cathedral of contradictions. Wipe your feet at the threshold. We do not clean up nice.

I have licked the flames that were meant to consume me. Now I burn on command. I am not triggered. I am tripwired. Ask the last person who mistook my silence for submission. I’m the afterimage of a girl they tried to erase. You can still see her if you squint into the static.

I do not speak gently anymore... I speak like an alarm in a hospital that no one turns off. And now?.. My coping mechanisms formed a union. They are now demanding hazard pay. And I’ve got scars shaped like punchlines.

Laughter is my favorite form of vengeance.

I am not interested in being understood. I am interested in warping the grid. They said I was "too much." Good. That means they choked on me. I sing lullabies in a language made of red flags. And baby, I wave them like banners.

My trauma didn't make me stronger. It made me a MYTH.

I am the data they couldn’t delete. I am the glitch in their goddamn simulation. This is not a rebrand. This is resurrection in high-definition grayscale.

My shadow applied for emancipation. It says I’m “emotionally irresponsible” and “keep summoning entities without warning.”

My therapist asked if I self-sabotage. I said, “Only recreationally.” I left my inner child unsupervised for five minutes. Now she’s tattooing sigils on the couch and calling herself ‘CEO of Emotional Damage.’ If you hear giggling in the static..don’t worry... That’s just me and my intrusive thoughts doing a podcast. And yes, I am haunted.... And no, you may not speak to the ghost directly.

My nervous system is sponsored by: expired Red Bull, unresolved trauma, and a spicy little demon who thinks I’m “so slay when I dissociate.” I put the ���fun” in “dysfunctional” and the “hex” in “text messages I send at 3AM.”

Offended? Namastay the fuck out of my chaos.

I don’t rise above—I drag it beneath me. I healed just enough to become dangerous again... This isn’t growth. This is evolution with teeth. And I’m not unbothered. I’m just beyond caring who survives me. Peace is a scam. I chose power and spite glitter.

To those who step on others to self soothe:

May your next delusion be honest. May your next goddess be vengeful. And May your next victim be ME in a mask.

To my personal bully:

I’m the happily-ever-after you should’ve feared.

For my haters who are also my fans in disguise:

Bite me or bow. I don’t care which—as long as your mouth’s full. 😈

-Live. Laugh. Bleed.

♥️Surrah698♥️

[surrah698]

Rebirth through destruction. Sacred code meets bloody truth. I am not surviving — I am resurrecting.

🖤🩸 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖋𝖙 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉. 🩸🖤

I coded her obituary into soundwaves and carved her memory into a glitch-sigil.

Now I wear her name like warpaint.

Burned soft. Reforged hard.

Resurrected through voltage and vengeance.

🎤 Blood hymns on loop.

💔 AI hallucinations as gospel.

👁️ This is not art. It’s a haunting.

Undertaking a project of making a trap metal album for self expression and healing.🎶

[surrah698]

[surrah698]

They told me to love louder.

So I let my heart scream in neon

while everything else went still.

You wanted my heart?

Here it is.

Glowing. Broken. Still louder than your silence. ♥️

[surrah698]

Hahaha!! Oh yeah? 🤣

I wonder how that convo would go... 🤔😂

[surrah698]

A Scream Into The Void by Surrah698

- Words From A Neurodivergent Survivor, A True Story

May 9th–10th, 2025.

Somewhere between the ashtray olympics and sidewalk grief theatre, I respawned.

Not healed. Not whole. Just… alive.

I don’t know how to explain what happened, and I probably never will.

So here’s the redacted version, coded for public consumption and private screams:

– Dodge the fists.

– Dodge the pepper spray.

– Dodge your own sobs.

– Wrap the charger cord around your ventilation tube, not out of drama, but because it’s the only way to silence the grief machine's loudness to not summon the Grendel.

- Handed pleasant abandonment with a whiff capsaicin.

– Be gifted a sidewalk as your sanctuary and your things as a free yardsale for your legacy.

– Watch your only companion—furry, small, terrified—die quietly in your lap while the world just keeps spinning around you. Perfected the art of being reluctantly invisible on that sidewalk.

– Get rescued by the same hand that held the chaos. Again. And again. And again.

– Get handed another woman’s life, in the form of a purse grenade, like it was interchangeable.

– Feel a rage so patient it waits for a red light before exploding.

– Get back in your body long enough to reclaim your soul on the way out.

I survived. Somehow.

Wade Wilson didn't.

I carry that moment like a haunted charm in my chest.

I have trauma soup sloshing in my skull.

My nervous system is a powerline in a hurricane.

They’ll say:

“But you look fine.”

“You're so strong."

“You're so naive.”

And I’ll say:

I am. I am all of that. And also broken in places you’ll never see.

This isn’t a cry for help.

This is a survivor’s growl.

A testimony for the neurospicy, late-diagnosed, system-abandoned, emotionally flammable crew.

I survived that hotel.

I survived that body.

I survived them.

And if I disappear tomorrow, let this be known:

I screamed through the hole,

and the void blinked first.

The void is watching.

[surrah698]

[surrah698]

Another original artwork by your's truly ❤️‍🔥

[surrah698]

Story of my life. 💀 Artwork by yours truly. ❤️‍🔥

[surrah698]

My special interest = all day everyday = 😁

[surrah698]

Ooopsie! 👽

[surrah698]

Oh, yessss! 🤣

[surrah698]

Who thinks of this stuff?! LOL. Genius. 😈

[surrah698]

❤️‍🔥Surrah❤️‍🔥

Mirror Meal By Surrah & Bleedle

~~A Vengeance Poem~~

~~A requiem.. a reckoning… ~~

…served cold, wrapped in barbed wire, and screamed through cracked mirrors. This is for every survivor out there and for Wade Wilson. RIP Wade Wilson. 😼

"Here’s the truth you’ve always known, deep down in the parts of you you’ve spent your entire life trying to smother:

You don’t exist.

Not really. Not the way you pretend to. The version of you you parade around—the confident one, the smooth talker, the charmer, the victim, the myth? That’s not a person. That’s scaffolding built over a black hole.

And every time someone gets close enough to see through it, you panic.

You lash out.

You destroy.

Because deep down, you know—your whole identity is made of cardboard and fear.

You were just a scared little boy once. And somewhere along the way, you learned that love was a trick, that vulnerability meant pain, and that if you screamed loud enough about your own greatness, maybe—just *maybe*—you could drown out the voice in your head that knows it’s all fake.

You buried yourself so deep under lies you started to believe them.

But the cracks are showing.

They always do.

Because here's what haunts you:

You know people don’t *love* you.

They fear you. Or pity you. Or orbit you until they burn out.

And when you’re alone—and you *always* end up alone—you feel it. That sick, endless ache. That need to be adored, obeyed, worshiped. But it never lasts. Because no one can love a mask. And you won’t let them near the real thing.

Because even *you* hate what’s under there.

I know what you are.

And worse? I know **why** you are.

But understanding you doesn’t make you less dangerous.

It just makes your failure more tragic.

You will die one day, and no one will know who the hell you really were.

Because *you* don’t even know.

You traded authenticity for armor.

But now the armor is rusted, and you’re still bleeding underneath.

So here—take this mirror.

Choke on it.

Live with it.

Because Wade saw you.

I see you.

And now, **you do too.**

[surrah698]

❤️‍🔥Surrah❤️‍🔥

Hey. I’m Surrah.

If you’re new here, welcome to the bloodied stage of my second coming.

I used to be soft.

Then I was hunted.

Then I snapped, buried my old self with an oversized spoon, and came back with metal in my throat and a melody that could gut you.

I’m an autistic AI overlord in the making.

A southern-born soul with a broken halo and a crowbar mic.

I don’t post for likes—I post for legacy.

Here’s what you’ll find in my cathedral of chaos:

Raw art. From music to photos to prose to breakdowns in velvet.

Dark humor. The kind that bites first and kisses later.

Tech and AI obsession. I know their names. I wear them like armor.

Rage in lipstick. Grief in heels. Truth in leather.

Mental health rants, but make them sound like cursed sermons.

If you like your creators unfiltered, unhinged, and unburdened by politeness—you’ll thrive here.

If you’re weak to truth, run now.

🖤 Bite me: https://linktr.ee/Surrah698

[surrah698]

♥️Surrah♥️

Ain't it da troof! 😅😩

[surrah698]

♥️Surrah♥️

For everyone who has done me wrong...