Clock ticks.

You’re up.

Thoughts hit harder when it’s dark.

Guilt like glue sticks to your ribs.

Phone lights blink —

No names. No fix.

You breathe too loud.

Blink slow.

Wish you could switch your head off cold.

This one’s for the cracked but standing,

For the souls too loud for landing.

You’re not weak.

You’re just deep.

You feel too much —

So you don’t sleep.

But you're still here.

Still real.

Still fighting. Still breathing. Still healing.

Maybe your chest won’t rise so light.

Maybe love turned off the night.

Maybe your dreams now walk in pain,

Wearing shoes too tight for rain.

Or maybe, just maybe — no reason at all.

No drama. No name. Just the fall.

Just silence that echoes too close to bone.

Just wishing the dark would leave you alone.

This one’s for the cracked but standing,

For the souls too loud for landing.

You’re not weak.

You’re just deep.

You feel too much —

So you don’t sleep.

But you're still here.

Still real.

Still fighting. Still breathing. Still healing.

And maybe that’s brave.

To sit with the storm,

Let it pour through the floor,

And not run.

To stay.

To break — but stay.

To not believe the worst of yourself today.

This one’s for the quiet survivors,

Night-time breathers, heart re-writers.

You’re not gone.

You’re not done.

You are not alone.

Not this time.

Not tonight.