I wear my scars like silent screams,
Dark echoes trapped inside my dreams.
Beneath the cracks, a hollowed beat,
Where pain and shadow coldly meet.

I’ve been a storm, a ruthless sea,
Drowning in my own debris.
Each bruise a chain, each fall a scar
A prisoner behind bars.

I bend but break, I bleed unseen,
A fragile ghost trapped in between.
Worn and shattered, still I stand—
A broken sword in trembling hands.

The nights are black, no stars to guide,
A void where hope has long since died.
My soul a grave, my thoughts decay,
A ruin slowly washed away.

In every tremble, every tear,
There’s rage too fierce to disappear.
So let the world look on and say
I’m lost within my own decay.

I wear the weight of silent cries,
Invisible beneath the lies.
A hollow heart, a cursed refrain
Forever bound in endless pain.

I wake each day to dragging skies,
With hollow breath and heavy eyes.
The mirror shows a stranger’s face
A ghost that time cannot erase.

My thoughts are storms behind a grin,
A quiet war I fight within.
They see me stand, they see me try,
But never hear the hows or why.

“Go take a walk,” they gently urge,
As if that stops the endless surge.
“Just think good thoughts, and you’ll pull through,”
As if I haven’t tried that too.

I’ve stitched my soul with fraying thread,
And danced on floors where hope has bled.
I’ve whispered truths no one can see,
Like “living hurts,” and “I’m not me.”

The weight I carry, none can chart
A thousand knives deep in the heart.
And when I speak, when I confess,
They offer cures, then change the mess.

I plead in silence, cracked and shattered
And all they say is:

Pitter Patter.