I wake each day to dragging skies,
With hollow breath and heavy eyes.
The mirror shows a stranger’s face
A ghost that time cannot erase.

My thoughts are storms behind a grin,
A quiet war I fight within.
They see me stand, they see me try,
But never hear the hows or why.

“Go take a walk,” they gently urge,
As if that stops the endless surge.
“Just think good thoughts, and you’ll pull through,”
As if I haven’t tried that too.

I’ve stitched my soul with fraying thread,
And danced on floors where hope has bled.
I’ve whispered truths no one can see,
Like “living hurts,” and “I’m not me.”

The weight I carry, none can chart
A thousand knives deep in the heart.
And when I speak, when I confess,
They offer cures, then change the mess.

I plead in silence, cracked and shattered
And all they say is:

Pitter Patter.