Some things in life we carry,
Not because we care,
But because we must.
Like faded promises,
And roles we never asked for—
They cling to our spine,
Etching silence into our skin.

Not every burden is born of love.
Some are stitched with duty,
Unseen, unpraised,
Yet always there—
A shadow in the light,
A name we answer to,
Even when our heart stays silent.

We don't resent it.
But we don't cherish it either.
We simply carry.
Because someone must.

In a room where books pile high,
Echoes of dreams refuse to die.
A restless mind, a weary soul,
At twenty-four, still chasing a goal.

Through the window, the world spins fast,
A blur of futures, a ghost of past.
The sun dips low, the sky turns red,
Yet here I sit, lost in my head.

Lines of code and circuits bright,
Mock me softly in the dimming light.
A degree framed, but dust collects,
On promises life won’t protect.

I reach for a cigarette, pause mid-air,
What would it change? Who would care?
The smoke might dance, the ember glow,
But answers? No, they never show.

Dreams cost time, and time runs thin,
A battle fought but hard to win.
Yet somewhere deep, a spark remains,
A quiet fire, defying chains.

So I let the match slip from my hand,
Breathe in deep, and make a stand.
Not today, I tell the night—
Not today, I'll lose this fight.