I wake up inside the noise

before the day can start.

Every breath confirms the fact:

I didn’t fall apart.

They call it strength to stay awake,

to carry on somehow.

I call it learning how to last

without a “why” or “how”.

“STILL HERE?”

Between the urge to shut it down

and the habit to endure

I breathe.

I’M STILL HERE!

THAT’S THE DAMAGE!

No god to count the effort made.

No meaning in the scar.

Just days that prove I didn’t end

they don’t prove what they are.

They say “at least you’re not gone”,

say “that alone is grace”.

Grace shouldn’t feel like dragging time

across my face.

“GRATEFUL YET?!”

Between the fear of disappearing

and the weight of staying seen

I stall.

I’M STILL HERE!

THAT’S THE DAMAGE!

“FOR WHAT?!”

“FOR HOW LONG?!”

“WHO SAID THIS COUNTS AS LIVING?!”

No lesson.

No cure.

Just consciousness

that won’t shut off.

I’M STILL HERE!

THAT’S THE DAMAGE!

Still breathing.

Still the proof.