I kept the light off just in case

The shadow wants to show its face

It knows the pattern of my chest

How I inhale, how I forget

A glass of water, left untouched

The silence knows I talk too much

But never loud enough to drown

The voice that stains the quiet sound

I call it mine—

This weight, this burn, this quiet bind

A thorn I trace with every breath

An ache that doesn’t wish me death

Just wants me here.

Still.

Remembering.

The mirror warps around my shape

I press my palm and feel it shake

It doesn’t crack, it only bends—

A kindness veiled in malintent

I wear it well—

This wound, this hum, this private hell

No one can see the place it lives

But I still feel how deep it gives

It keeps me here.

Still.

Listening.

I don’t deny—

This mark, this song, this quiet cry

It’s not a curse, it’s not a plea

It’s just the shape I came to be

Still here.

Still.

Still.