Sixteen & Silent

I tell them I’m fine.
They believe me.
Even when my sleeves stay long in the heat,
Even when my eyes sink deep in my face,
Even when I flinch at the sound of my name.

The shadows don’t care if I speak or stay quiet.
They hum in the walls, they breathe in my chest,
They slip through the cracks of my locked bedroom door,
Curl in my sheets, whisper, “You know what to do.”

I watch the blood bead, slow, deliberate.
Proof that I’m real, proof that I’m here.
It stains my sink, my sleeves, my mother’s voice,
When she asks why I sleep so much.

I want to tell her.
I want to say that the voices are eating me whole,
That the shadows are pulling my strings,
That I am a puppet and I don’t know who holds me.

But I just say, “I’m tired.”
And she says, “Get some rest.”

So I close my eyes.
And for a moment, I wonder—
If I never wake up,
Would she finally hear me?