no matter how loud I scream
I still hear nothing
I can't even hear my own voice
no matter how loud I scream

<𝚍𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎>
...
<𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝>

Only a few short days...
We were laughing away on Friday

You seemed happy, not flinching
Even when our friend replied with

An Emiya Shirou meme
What killed you homie?

<<𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎>>
<𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑>
<<𝚒’𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠>>

Sunday, your seat’s empty
Our friends all at church

Like He finally heard us
Your mom, she needs our prayers

Her spot on the front pew bare
While she holds your hand at the ward

<<𝚍𝚞𝚍𝚎... 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜:>>
<<𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗>>
<<𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝.........>>

<<𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚎 🖤>>

Again I face my post-it wall,
just me, and Solitude—
My steady stool, my Panadol,
my tissues, fully ****.

With me: my cookies, wire & soup,
and don't forget the Phone—
For as I sulk, and as I coop,
Posture, degrades the Bone.

So as I'm waiting patiently
for Marriage, Love and Wealth—
My Sickness independently
will sabotage my Self.

Flowers bloom
The sun shines bright
The outside seems alright

But you're there
All bottled up inside

Storms don't last
But yours felt like
Clouds of dust following you
All year round

All you wanted was to shine
But all you see is their squinting eyes
So you stayed behind
Waiting for the crowd to be kind

So you wished
If there was another universe
Where your feet wasn't chained to the ground

You started your first day
Thinking of new beginning
But you stayed inside your head
And ended up running
"Maybe I couldn't"

Strangers and friends
Didn't differ that much
Gone faster than the wind
They wouldn't look back

the way i interact with people gives them bite-sized pieces –
a wince, a sigh, a rant about the last appointment.
i catch myself in surprise when i say i was at the doctor
and they ask if i’m okay, two question marks in their voice,
and i can’t help but laugh before i say yes.
i guess most people go to the doctor for physicals and check-ups,
maybe for strep throat or a sprain,
and not for half an answer,
weeks of waitlists,
waiting.
maybe they’ll even see me tired,
puffy-eyed and curled up on the couch like i came with it,
feeling like a drag when i shake my head and say i’ll stay while they go.
in little moments, if they’re looking, they’ll see me labor up the stairs,
an amused echo of ‘but you’re so young!’ flashing through my mind
as each step sends a sharp pain through my knees.
“you go first,” i insist, hanging back with a smile
before climbing in their wake.