El brillo de los elementos en la cabeza de una escritora dañada

My Sonnet 1

A hollow ache consumes this weary soul, 
Where once bright passions burned with fierce delight. 
Now shadows creep, and emptiness takes hold, 
Replacing joy with endless, silent night.

The heart, once full, now echoes in the void, 
A cavern deep, where echoes softly die. 
No tears to fall, no sorrows to avoid, 
Just numbness wrapped in every silent sigh.

Each day drifts by, a pale and ghostly shade, 
As time itself seems lost within the gray. 
No warmth, no fire, no dreams that will not fade, 
Just lifeless hours that slowly slip away.

Yet in this void, a whisper faint and true— 
The hope that life might one day bloom anew.