It sits in the chair I left empty,
whispering words I
try
not to hear.
Sometimes it tells me
everything
that is wrong with me,
like a hiss
that wraps around my ribs.
Sometimes it roars out of my mouth,
a scream that tastes like metal
but only
when I am alone.
Its claws scar the curvature of my mind,
and I can feel its breath
in the hollow of my chest.
Even the silence carries its voice,
persistent and endless,
a weight I cannot set down.
Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 9:18 AM UTC
It sits in the chair I left empty,
whispering words I
try
not to hear.
Sometimes it tells me
everything
that is wrong with me,
like a hiss
that wraps around my ribs.
Sometimes it roars out of my mouth,
a scream that tastes like metal
but only
when I am alone.
Its claws scar the curvature of my mind,
and I can feel its breath
in the hollow of my chest.
Even the silence carries its voice,
persistent and endless,
a weight I cannot set down.
