I feel as if I carry a dark aura.
When people walk beside me,
their paths seem to grow heavier.
Somewhere between me
and their tender emotions,
they lose their balance.
Words remain unspoken.
Eyes turn away.
Hearts grow smaller
in my shadow.
I am no one here
a voice lost in the wind.
Yet one sentence
still echoes inside me:
“You will die alone.”
Words once spoken by a counselor
on a random retreat,
but they stayed
like a thorn in the soul.
I burn quietly
with the thought
that every struggle of the man beside me
begins with me.
Each day I wake and wonder
will he leave me one day?
Will the road end
with only my footsteps?
I am no one here,
or so I tell myself
a burden carried
by everyone around me.
I love life,
yet sometimes
living feels too heavy.
My heart is a stone
I carry through the day,
and at night, in the dark,
it melts into silent tears.
Yet I am one here
who longs for peace
and fears
that I may be
the storm.
I dream of doing many things,
of living a life
wide and bright.
But again and again
my hands return empty.
Still a fragile whisper inside me says:
maybe I too will live a good life,
maybe these clouds will pass.
I wait
for a small spark of light
to slip through the darkness
and spread its quiet glow.
I dream of a better life.
And I am one here
who knows
reality is not a dream,
yet somewhere inside
the heart still hopes
for dawn.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 3:42 PM UTC
I feel as if I carry a dark aura.
When people walk beside me,
their paths seem to grow heavier.
Somewhere between me
and their tender emotions,
they lose their balance.
Words remain unspoken.
Eyes turn away.
Hearts grow smaller
in my shadow.
I am no one here
a voice lost in the wind.
Yet one sentence
still echoes inside me:
“You will die alone.”
Words once spoken by a counselor
on a random retreat,
but they stayed
like a thorn in the soul.
I burn quietly
with the thought
that every struggle of the man beside me
begins with me.
Each day I wake and wonder
will he leave me one day?
Will the road end
with only my footsteps?
I am no one here,
or so I tell myself
a burden carried
by everyone around me.
I love life,
yet sometimes
living feels too heavy.
My heart is a stone
I carry through the day,
and at night, in the dark,
it melts into silent tears.
Yet I am one here
who longs for peace
and fears
that I may be
the storm.
I dream of doing many things,
of living a life
wide and bright.
But again and again
my hands return empty.
Still a fragile whisper inside me says:
maybe I too will live a good life,
maybe these clouds will pass.
I wait
for a small spark of light
to slip through the darkness
and spread its quiet glow.
I dream of a better life.
And I am one here
who knows
reality is not a dream,
yet somewhere inside
the heart still hopes
for dawn.
This poem is just my heart speaking. Sometimes I feel like I am the reason things become heavy for people around me, and that thought hurts more than anything. There are nights when the sadness feels too big, but somewhere inside I still hold a small hope that things will get better one day.
