The darkness closes in,
a suffocating shroud.
You whisper,
"It's gonna be ok,"
but the words are empty, a hollow echo in the cavernous space where my soul used to be. The monsters whisper too, their voices a cacophony of cruel truths.
"You're broken, unfixable, not worth saving."
They're kind, in their own way, offering an escape, a release from the torment.
But you don't see the chains that bind me,
the weight of the shadows that swallow me whole.
You don't see the fragments of me scattered like shattered glass,
lost in the labyrinth of my mind.
It's easy for you to say,
"It's gonna be ok."
Easy to be the voice of reason
in someone else's storm.
But I am drowning,
gasping for air,
and all I want is peace.
Is that selfish?
To want an end to this agony?
To want to be free?