Your pain is a well carved from your own
burden — the deeper you dig, the louder
the darkness learns your name.
The hollows echo with every forgotten
ache, in this chamber where young hopes
are laid to rest too early, their graves
watered with the salt of your tears.
It stands before you like a frost-bitten statue,
cold, unblinking, watching you slowly wane.
And still,
you taste the stain of yesterday’s mistakes —
sins that cling to the tongue even after
repentance has washed your hands clean.
You are the last howl in the quiet,
the final cry your heart releases when
the world refuses to hear what breaks you.
Yet where the rain falls —
whether in gentle drops or merciless storms,
let your soul loosen its grip, unfold its fist,
and allow the sky to wash what you’ve carried
too long. Because even pain learns to loosen
its grip when you finally choose to loosen yours.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 3:14 AM UTC
Your pain is a well carved from your own
burden — the deeper you dig, the louder
the darkness learns your name.
The hollows echo with every forgotten
ache, in this chamber where young hopes
are laid to rest too early, their graves
watered with the salt of your tears.
It stands before you like a frost-bitten statue,
cold, unblinking, watching you slowly wane.
And still,
you taste the stain of yesterday’s mistakes —
sins that cling to the tongue even after
repentance has washed your hands clean.
You are the last howl in the quiet,
the final cry your heart releases when
the world refuses to hear what breaks you.
Yet where the rain falls —
whether in gentle drops or merciless storms,
let your soul loosen its grip, unfold its fist,
and allow the sky to wash what you’ve carried
too long. Because even pain learns to loosen
its grip when you finally choose to loosen yours.
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