In shadowed halls where silence dwells,
A voice unseen begins to swell.
Not loud, but low — a velvet thread,
That winds its way inside your head.
It speaks in tones the day denies,
Beneath the mask, behind the eyes.
A creeping mist of doubt and dread,
That stains the rose, that breaks the thread.
It knows the name you hide away,
The cracks you paint in light of day.
It calls you close with poisoned grace,
A mirror dark, a cold embrace.
You try to run — but thoughts don't bleed,
They nest, they gnaw, they plant a seed.
A garden grown in grief and night,
With roots too deep to flee the fight.
But still a spark, however small,
Can cut the dark, can climb the wall.
For though these thoughts may seem your own,
They’re echoes cast — not carved in stone.
So let them come, but do not stay.
Let light return to guide your way.
The night is long, the mind is vast,
But even this — yes, this — shall pass.
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 5:01 AM UTC
In shadowed halls where silence dwells,
A voice unseen begins to swell.
Not loud, but low — a velvet thread,
That winds its way inside your head.
It speaks in tones the day denies,
Beneath the mask, behind the eyes.
A creeping mist of doubt and dread,
That stains the rose, that breaks the thread.
It knows the name you hide away,
The cracks you paint in light of day.
It calls you close with poisoned grace,
A mirror dark, a cold embrace.
You try to run — but thoughts don't bleed,
They nest, they gnaw, they plant a seed.
A garden grown in grief and night,
With roots too deep to flee the fight.
But still a spark, however small,
Can cut the dark, can climb the wall.
For though these thoughts may seem your own,
They’re echoes cast — not carved in stone.
So let them come, but do not stay.
Let light return to guide your way.
The night is long, the mind is vast,
But even this — yes, this — shall pass.
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