Hold on
we are not dead yet
The night may press its weight on our chests
but breath still rises like a stubborn tide
I was crowned with fret
a restless crown of questions and storms
yet my nose was not shaped for one smell alone
I breathe the dust of failure
and still catch the scent of tomorrow
Do not mistake my silence for surrender
I have wrestled with shadows
and returned with scars stitched across my skin
These scars
they are not wounds anymore
they are the lungs of my story
They pump courage through broken hours
they whisper survival through sleepless nights
they remind the dark that I have endured it before
For every mark on my body
there is a battle that refused to bury me
Hold on
we are not dead yet
The fire is quiet
but it lives
and my scars
my faithful oxygen
keep the flame breathing
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 3:51 PM UTC
Hold on
we are not dead yet
The night may press its weight on our chests
but breath still rises like a stubborn tide
I was crowned with fret
a restless crown of questions and storms
yet my nose was not shaped for one smell alone
I breathe the dust of failure
and still catch the scent of tomorrow
Do not mistake my silence for surrender
I have wrestled with shadows
and returned with scars stitched across my skin
These scars
they are not wounds anymore
they are the lungs of my story
They pump courage through broken hours
they whisper survival through sleepless nights
they remind the dark that I have endured it before
For every mark on my body
there is a battle that refused to bury me
Hold on
we are not dead yet
The fire is quiet
but it lives
and my scars
my faithful oxygen
keep the flame breathing