If I have some faith and a little hope,
when I untie the knot—
the noose is just a piece of rope.
IX of Swords Spell
Cheers to my fears—
they're all coming clear.
Sooner than I realize,
my nightmares materialize.
Lightbulbs into eyeballs.
Rope-climbing, nose-diving.
Skin hiving.
Heebie-jeebies.
Grandma's diabetes.
Breathing in gas till she chokes,
sneaking in chocolate and smokes.
What a hoax.
False teeth out and about,
chasing us around—
it's funny, honey.
Sacred pillow thrown away.
Dolls in ovens. So much pain...
Where even am I now?
Whose house?
And who, what, when,
and how?
Liar, liar, pants on fire...
Pants off, girl, now touch it. Higher.
Firecracker, firecracker,
rah, rah, raw.
Lift up that skirt.
Open that jaw.
What the fuck happened in this house?
The secrets sneak around like a mouse.
Who's hiding?
Who's seeking?
I'm not looking.
I'm definitely not peeking.
I close my eyes— tight, not tightly.
Pinch myself. Am I alive? All's unsightly.
I wish I were dead...
Is this madness all in my head?
Sometimes it's hard to separate
what I've heard
from what has happened.
It's all blurred.
Scary, not safe
Dead— not awake.
I told her, and she said nothing.
I told them, and they said nothing.
But it was something.
What I told them was everything.
I told him—but he wouldn't stop.
If he doesn't, I might just chop it off.
Trapped in this hell...
It doesn't matter who I tell.
Nobody's listening.
Change the channel.
The static's hissing.
The window is open—but I can't get out.
The rope curls around my throat, no doubt.
If I escape, if I climb, I might fall
onto the troubles that wait for me—
my downfall.
And, even if what's happening is the worst in the world—
I can still just skate and twirl, twirl, twirl...
Forget what I've heard.
Unsee what I've seen.
Leave it all behind.
Let them come clean.
Fires. Lies. I'm hypnotized.
Take sides. Realize. Scandalize.
Perfect childhood—
birthday parties and French fries.
Swimming pools and Kennywood rides.
Lies, lies, lies...
Fears—
the great surprise—
love only existed between my thighs.
No matter what terrors lived in this space,
I'm going to get the hell out of this place.
If I have some faith and a little hope,
when I untie the knot—
the noose is just a piece of rope.
Keywords & Card Content
KEYWORDS: THE 3 A.M. NIGHTMARE, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, TRAUMA ECHOES
IMAGE
We’re in the basement. Again. The place Eight can’t seem to leave. She’s got roller-skates on, but there’s no smooth floor here. No pop music. No disco ball throwing lights across her face. No fun. Just concrete and shadow. She looks trapped, afraid. Prison bars flicker in her eyes. Swords of varying sizes and strengths encircle her—the tips glint. They’ve injured before. She remembers. Her body remembers.
Behind her, an open window. The air from outside whispers at her back, but she doesn’t turn. A rope hangs down from the window frame. It looks like a noose. At 3 a.m. it is a noose. The skates bolt to her feet, immovable.
A place for kids. A place for laughter. That’s what she was promised. The lie rolls beneath her, unstable. If she falls, the blades will cut. The rope sways slightly. It could be something else. But right now, it isn’t. The basement hums. The past seeps in like mold.
And she stands there—surrounded, immobile, awake.
DIVINATORY MEANING
Nine represents completion, materialization, and culmination. So, what does that mean for the IX of Swords? The mental confinement has now manifested. Your fears are no longer whispers—they’re here, loud and flashing, like a party you never wanted to attend.
And this party isn’t fun.
You don’t want to be thinking these horrible things, but it’s like you can’t help it. You’re in a near-panic state, dreading everything because it all feels terrifying. And, truthfully? Depending on your dilemma, some of it may be.
But you don’t have to stay in that mindset.
Some thoughts are just thoughts. Some feelings are just feelings. They do not have to become actions. Your mind is trying to protect you with hypervigilance. It thinks danger is everywhere. You may feel like something is wrong with you, or that you can’t trust yourself.
But you can.
Carefully separate what’s real, what’s heightened, what’s imagined, and what was planted there by someone else. What did you experience? And what were you told about yourself? Your fear feels real—but it is not a prophecy. It is an echo.
EIGHT’S INSIGHT
You’re paralyzed into one of your trauma responses: fight, flight, fawn, or freeze. Right now, your mind can’t hold the entire situation. It’s overwhelmed by terror. The shame of what you endured is understandable— but it was never your fault. It could have been anyone. It was you.
Predators will keep hunting if they can. But you don’t have to be prey anymore. You’re grown now. You are a beast of a survivor. You don’t deserve to feel scared forever. You’re allowed to feel safe now—on your own timeline.
You already survived the initial attack. These lingering panic attacks and flashbacks cannot kill you. They feel deadly—but they aren’t.
You made it. You’re still alive. You’re still processing.
You’ll never fully make sense of a monster. So instead, just think of your trauma as your origin story— the place where your superpowers were forged. And if you’ve lost hope, hand that rope to someone safe. Let them untangle it and show you—
It’s just a rope.