it starts as a hum in the marrow of the bone,
A frequency tuned to a tower unknown.
It isn’t a spark, and it isn’t a fire,
It’s the desperate grip on a live electric wire.
The world becomes patterns of skin and of heat,
A hunger that moves on anonymous feet.
Searching for mirrors in a stranger’s dark eyes,
To prove I exist beneath all the disguise.
I am building a bridge out of shadows and breath,
To outrun a silence that feels like a death.
But the bridge has no footing, the anchor won't hold,
And the warmth of the moment is instantly cold.
It’s a dopamine ghost in a crowded glass room,
A burst of the bright followed fast by the gloom.
I am full of the motion but empty of grace,
Lost in the map of a vanishing face.
When the static subsides and the curtains are drawn,
I am left with the gray, heavy light of the dawn.
Wondering why, when the hunger is fed,
The heart stays so hungry inside of the head.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 3:39 AM UTC
it starts as a hum in the marrow of the bone,
A frequency tuned to a tower unknown.
It isn’t a spark, and it isn’t a fire,
It’s the desperate grip on a live electric wire.
The world becomes patterns of skin and of heat,
A hunger that moves on anonymous feet.
Searching for mirrors in a stranger’s dark eyes,
To prove I exist beneath all the disguise.
I am building a bridge out of shadows and breath,
To outrun a silence that feels like a death.
But the bridge has no footing, the anchor won't hold,
And the warmth of the moment is instantly cold.
It’s a dopamine ghost in a crowded glass room,
A burst of the bright followed fast by the gloom.
I am full of the motion but empty of grace,
Lost in the map of a vanishing face.
When the static subsides and the curtains are drawn,
I am left with the gray, heavy light of the dawn.
Wondering why, when the hunger is fed,
The heart stays so hungry inside of the head.