There’s one last fight inside my chest,
A final war before I rest.
The kind of pain no one can see—
But it carved its name deep into me.

I wore a mask through breaking days,
In quiet rooms, I screamed in waves.
The healing came with blood and bone,
It never told me I’d be alone.

Nights turned cruel—my breath would stall,
Shadows climbing every wall.
I saw the past in every face,
And every crowd felt like a cage.

I waited.
For justice, truth, a sign—
Some final word to say “you’re fine.”
But silence echoed through the case,
And time just laughed into my face.

It dragged, and dragged, no end in sight,
So I kept dying every night.
Not with a bang, but with the ache,
Of all the peace they’d never make.

So here I stand.
No final call.
No courtroom speech. No rise, no fall.
Just this:
A broken, sacred choice—
To leave without a voice.

To walk, not when it’s all made right,
But when I choose to save my life.

I’ll let it fade. I’ll let it go.
Though it tore through every soul I know.
No closure, no clean victory—
But I’ll still write the end for me.

I’m not who I was in that war.
I’ve burned the maps, unlocked the door.
This chapter ends not with a scream—
But with a pulse, a breath, a dream.

The cycle dies. I choose the flame.
I rise, unnamed but not the same.
One last push.
I won’t look back.
I’m not the story.
I’m the comeback.