I climbed out from under my own noise,
the static of too many selves
all speaking at once.
I just wanted silence,
or at least
a glimpse of something real
beyond this glassy, shifting mask I wear.

For a moment,
I thought I found it
I felt light,
untethered,
soaring past the reach of what they made me.
But I flew too far,
and forgot my own wings were stitched with lies.

My eyes
yes, they opened.
But they looked inward and saw only fog.
My mind
it turned, it turned,
but always into walls.

I still hear them
when the night softens
and sleep forgets to close the door.
The voices,
not cruel—just certain.
And that certainty cuts.

I pretended to know why I keep breathing.
Told people there’s a plan,
that I’ve got it sorted.
That’s the performance.
That’s the whole show.

And when I say I’m wise,
what I mean is
I’m tired of being wrong
so I’ve learned to speak
in riddles.

I’m not anchored.
I’m not grounded.
I’m a feeling in search of a name,
a boat without a harbor,
tossed in the ache of old waves.

I once thought the wind would save me.
But even that
whispers like them now:
"Where do you think you're going?"

They told me the climb would make me whole,
but I lost pieces with every pull.
Each truth I reached turned into smoke,
and every promise
just a joke.

I once believed the sky would catch me
a soul too cracked to feel the scratch,
but falling taught what is flight disguised
the stars don’t speak
they only shine.

My silence grew its own sharp teeth,
it gnawed my sleep, it bit beneath.
I smiled in rooms,
I couldn’t stay,
then vanished softly,
day by day.

There’s a hush where my name should be,
a space between the ‘you’ and ‘me.’
I’ve become a ghost with lungs and skin,
forever locked in where I’ve been.

And still they call,
those quiet screams,
the ones that echo through my dreams.
Not demons, no–
just echoes made,
from every truth
I’ve thrown away!

I walked so far to not be me,
but found myself in every fleeting minute,
in shadows cast,
in windows cracked,
no matter where, I still come back.

I wake,
but I don’t arrive.

I brush my teeth,
scroll my phone,
drink my thoughts
with lukewarm tea.

The clock ticks,
not like a heartbeat
but like a metronome
keeping time
for a song I no longer sing.

I answer emails,
nod in meetings,
smile where it fits.
I am present,
but not here.
Every day feels
like a copy
of a copy
of a dream I once had.

I miss surprises.
I miss meaning.
I miss the version of me
that thought this would feel
like living.

But I keep going.
One task. One sigh.
One “maybe tomorrow
I’ll feel something.”

Because even machines
need maintenance.
And I
am still
trying
to stay alive.

On this losing streak
Has to turn around
Strive so hard but cannot escape
Failure to which I am bound

Until starting positive changes
Disappointment will remain on your face
Day after day promise to improve
Clear to see that's not the case

Gone are effortless exchanges
Excited words once eagerly shared
Sitting on sheets together
For a relationship was unprepared

In blink of an eye you lifted my world
A little closer towards the sun
Leaving each trace of regret beneath my feet
No idea what we had begun

All the moments spent since
I've discovered in your company
Collected and shown on display inside
Like antique coins or paintings in an art gallery

Done proclaiming pathetic excuses
Instead of trying my best
You deserve someone who would die in order
To protect treasure buried in your chest

Some nights don’t end, they just disguise
They trade the stars for tired skies.
The sun comes up, but not for me,
It only lights what I can’t see.

I brush my teeth, I comb my hair,
Pretend I’m fine, pretend I care.
But underneath this thin disguise,
A storm is swirling in my eyes.

It’s not a scream—it’s something worse:
A quiet, slow, persistent curse.
A numbness pressed into my chest,
A longing just to finally rest.

"You’re broken goods," the whispers hum,
"The best of you will never come."
And though I know they lie like thieves,
Their poison drips between the leaves.

I try to speak, but words fall short
Like soldiers lost in last resort.
So I just nod and fake a grin,
While hiding everything within.

But still I rise, though barely so,
Though heavy winds refuse to go.
Each breath I take, each silent cry
Is proof I haven’t said goodbye.

Not healing fast, not flying free,
Not who I was, or hoped to be.
But still I walk, though slow and small,
And fight the urge to lose it all.

No ending yet, no twist, no cure
Just strength in choosing to endure.
When darkness stays and will not leave,
I stay as well.
I still believe.