A cry in the night
Thin yet sharp
Unheard, yet never unspoken.

Why? Why did they turn away?
Why did my voice fall like a leaf
Trembling and twisting  
yet never caught?
I reached out i swear i did
But not far, not loud
But enough
enough for someone to notice.
Or so I thought.

Was I too small, too plain, too quiet
To be worth the reach of a hand?
Was I too ordinary to be saved?
Too forgettable to be found?

I cried, but no one listened.
I begged, but no one answered.
My voice cracked and broke
And still nothing.

Tell me was I not enough for you ?
Not special enough  to matter to you?

I tried to stand tall,
But my legs shook beneath me.
I tried to be strong,
But my ribs felt too small to hold any breath i took
I swallowed the screams again and again
Until they rotted inside me
Turning my chest tight and until i felt it on my body
Turning my mind into a maze I couldn’t escape , maybe i never will.

I waited.
For a knock at the door,
For a voice to call my name,
For someone or anyone to come see me,
To see the shadows swallowing me whole

But no one came.

So
I learned to smile enough
To keep all the questions away.
I laughed loud enough
To bury the sound of my shattering heart
I wore my strength like armor
Heavy and suffocating
But convincing enough to fool them all.

And still... I waited.
Waited for someone to notice
That under the brave face
Was a soul in great pain

Tell me , was really so easy to forget?
So simple to not care
Did no one see the way I flinched every time
Did no one notice the way I held my breath whenever there footsteps neared my bed

I used to dream that someone would save me that someone would see through the silence
And wrap me in arms that felt safe.
I used to believe that love
real love l
Would find me before I disappeared completely.

But now that I wonder.
Maybe some people aren’t meant to be saved
People like me
Maybe some cries are meant to die out in the night
Forgotten and unheard

And maybe that cry in the night
just maybe.
It was never meant to matter at all.

Rainy days make me contemplate
What if I took her warm embrace
What if we shared our dreams and fears;
It is the cold that whispers,
Lonely tunes of an old radio,
Waking up emotions of faded hue;
The thought of you and me
How lovely would it be
If I could lean on your shoulder
As the weather turns colder.

I have a cold, and

I enjoy the drowsiness --


It gives me shelter.

It's running through
my whole body. Every
little strand of sinew
and every piece of
cartilage can feel it.
What's wrapping
my body is cold,
dry and famished,
craving wrapping.
Cigarette ash linens,
it's sticky at the bottom
of a cup on the ground.
Bats in barren caves yet
warmer than in my grotto.

It didn't matter

that the bird

survived.

It didn't matter

that the council

drained the lake.

The long

summer

never actually

arrived.

The blue sky

eventually went

and lived else-

where.

I asked the dog

why you were

so sad. Was told

that you always

hated July. Something

about the coldness,

and so

always having to hold

on to the

warmest parts

of each other.

You once asked me,
what the world would be like
if we didn't love,
didn't smile,
didn't touch.
If we never met
under the stars.
If I never caught my breath
in the breeze of that summer night,
my heart struck by lightning.
Or was it was your beauty?
I told you I'd cease to exist in a world
without you,
my heart would freeze.
Shatter from the cold.
But I met you, loved you.
I know I did.
So why then
is the world
so utterly
cold.

When I started
filling the cracks in my soul,
something soft
slipped out with the bile.

To be honest,
I’m not even sure
what that piece was anymore.

With the fury gone,
so too went the color —
the richness.

And while I’m satisfied
the hatred exists only in memory,
I long for that
beautifully vibrant world.

The snow falls quietly,
a thousand small promises,
each one different,
but all landing in the same place.
They rest on our noses,
soft as the moments we’ve shared,
melting away before they can be held.

There is something in the air tonight—
not the cold,
but a warmth that hides beneath the chill,
like the space between breaths,
where words are not needed
but understood.

You are the stillness of the evening,
the way the world quiets itself,
not because it must,
but because it knows.
I watch the snow settle around us,
each flake a kiss on the skin,
a touch that stays only long enough
to remind us
how fragile and perfect this is.

The light from the windows spills out,
but it’s not the glow of Christmas
that warms the space.
It’s the quiet love we’ve carved here—
not in gifts or decorations,
but in the way we exist,
like snowflakes in the dark,
falling,
slowly drifting,
landing softly in the snow.