In the silence of my room,
a storm brews quietly,
whispers of shadows tug at my sleeves,
heavy thoughts sit on my chest like stones.
Each day, I wear a mask,
a painted smile,
hiding the ache that curls inside,
like a vine, wrapping tighter with every breath.
The mirror reflects a stranger,
eyes dull, lips pressed into a line—
mocking the joy everyone expects,
while I battle the tide of despair alone.
I count the scars,
each line a story,
etched on skin, a cry that goes unheard,
a scream muffled under the weight of "I'm fine."
Some days I dance with thoughts,
dizzy in their embrace,
wondering if the pain can end,
wondering if this night will swallow me whole.
But even in the darkest hours,
a flicker remains, sometimes—
a friend's laughter, a gentle breeze,
a memory that tugs, that pulls me back.
So I choose to stay,
to turn the page of this heavy book,
to sketch a word, a color, a life
where hope dares to peep through the gloom.
And tomorrow, just maybe,
I'll step outside, gaze up at the stars,
feel for a moment—
the weight of my heart lighten.
