It wouldn’t be this silent
If the wind chimes Mother hung still sang from the ceiling.
It wouldn’t be this dark
If the warm lights still clung to the corners of the wall.
It wouldn’t be so pale
If the colors weren’t buried beneath lifeless paint.

There are things I never got to see clearly—
Like how those canvas paintings fell,
Even when the nail never moved.

I wish I’d been given a pass to the answers—
What exactly sleeps beneath these blurry lies?

But my train kept skipping the stations
I was meant to discover.
Now I’m stuck
In this trigonometric aisle—
Too angled to rest, too sharp to escape.

Sometimes, I don’t know how to feel,
But there’s one thing I know is real:
I still have to stay on this ride,
Even if it strips me down.

I’m not whole, and I’m not made of steel—
Because beneath all this armor,
I still crave love.

I’ve longed for warmth,
But never knew where to find it.
I used to fear the dark,
Until my only empire became
A blanket—
Because it did what my father never did.

I tried to return home… to Mother,
But she shut the door
Before I could even lift my foot to the step.

Everything was cracked—
Every side of me.
Taped together with fragile seams,
Pretending to be fine.

But I know I’m not alone.
And I don’t mourn—
Because I was told to grow.

As if I’m the only one with a heart
In a world of trillions?
Surely others have seen worse.
But I wouldn’t know.

So I’ll save my tears for now,
Pick up my mirror,
And walk—
Toward the next terror.