Rot

He doesn't remember when it started. Maybe it was always there-the dull rot in his bones, the silence under his skin.

A quiet man. Just another employee. Just another face. No one knows what it's like inside his head. No one's supposed to. He goes to work. He greets people. He smiles.

But holidays hit harder. Loneliness gets louder. And when it all builds up, all he can do is cut. Small at first. Just to feel something. Just to release the buzzing in his brain.

No one notices, not really. Even when he starts smiling more. Laughing more. The scar is still there. The rot keeps growing.

"Rot" is a raw, unfiltered descent into self-hatred, routine misery, and the terrifying numbness of surviving when everything inside is already gone. Told in fragments and breaths, it's not about healing. It's about what it means to decay, quietly, while pretending you're okay.

This isn't a recovery story. This is what happens when you forget who you were, and start becoming something else.