I will not lie on my deathbed haunted by the ghosts of dreams I left unborn, of words swallowed like ash and regret.
The voice in my head a relentless whisper, an ember refusing to fade: Go forward, Go further, Or burn alive in the silence.
They call my sky too wide, my dreams reckless, as if their fears could cage my endless horizon.
I burn hot like fire a fury ignited by the smallness of their projections, the cowardice of chosen comforts, a daily surrender to empty routines.
I rage against shrinking, against the numbness of a life untested. Let them choose ease; I will chase obsession, run wild into uncertainty, and carry my dreams like flames into the dark.