The night still clings in threads of black,
a shadow stitched across my back;
it hums with echoes, low and deep,
the kind that wander where I sleep.
My body learned to hide its cries,
wore masks of calm and thin disguise;
yet underneath, the colours spread -
blue storms, green flares, the unheard red.
I walk through days like broken stone,
a ruin others leave alone;
the past comes knocking, sharp and cold,
A thief that’s never grown too old.
The world moves on with brighter skies,
while I tread fog that never dries;
each step a battle, breath a doubt,
a silence screaming from within, not out.