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#frozensoul
You know you’ve lost yourself again when the room goes quiet and the dark feels heavier than it should. You lie there- not sleeping, not awake- just existing in the space between breaths. Your chest rises like it’s asking permission. You want to tell someone how bad it is. How the silence roars. How your mind gnaws at itself like an animal caught in its own trap. But the words rot before they reach your mouth. They won’t understand. They’ll tilt their heads. They’ll say you’re dramatic. Too sensitive. Too much. So you swallow it. You want to scream- a sound so raw it splits the night open. You want to cry until something inside you finally breaks and lets the flood out. But you are too tired to even lift your own grief. You freeze. Like the surface of a winter lake- hard, glassy, untouchable. Solid enough to fool the world. They walk across you and say, “See? You’re fine.” But underneath- underneath you are still water. Still moving. Still alive. Still aching with a current no one sees. Your thoughts press down like boots on thin ice. You try to swim but the ceiling above you is sealed. Your hands push, your lungs burn, and the light fractures into pieces you cannot reach. You are suffocating in a place that looks calm. The cold seeps in slowly. It steals your warmth without asking. Your body grows quiet. Your heart dulls its own rhythm so it doesn’t have to feel the panic clawing at its ribs. You are not screaming anymore. You are not crying. You are just… stopping. And the cruelest part- the part that breaks you- is that somewhere beneath the ice you are still soft. Still hoping someone will hear the cracking. Still waiting for the surface to shatter before you disappear completely.
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Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:52 PM UTC
imjustagirl
Beneath the ice, I am still breathing
You know you’ve lost yourself again when the room goes quiet and the dark feels heavier than it should. You lie there- not sleeping, not awake- just existing in the space between breaths. Your chest rises like it’s asking permission. You want to tell someone how bad it is. How the silence roars. How your mind gnaws at itself like an animal caught in its own trap. But the words rot before they reach your mouth. They won’t understand. They’ll tilt their heads. They’ll say you’re dramatic. Too sensitive. Too much. So you swallow it. You want to scream- a sound so raw it splits the night open. You want to cry until something inside you finally breaks and lets the flood out. But you are too tired to even lift your own grief. You freeze. Like the surface of a winter lake- hard, glassy, untouchable. Solid enough to fool the world. They walk across you and say, “See? You’re fine.” But underneath- underneath you are still water. Still moving. Still alive. Still aching with a current no one sees. Your thoughts press down like boots on thin ice. You try to swim but the ceiling above you is sealed. Your hands push, your lungs burn, and the light fractures into pieces you cannot reach. You are suffocating in a place that looks calm. The cold seeps in slowly. It steals your warmth without asking. Your body grows quiet. Your heart dulls its own rhythm so it doesn’t have to feel the panic clawing at its ribs. You are not screaming anymore. You are not crying. You are just… stopping. And the cruelest part- the part that breaks you- is that somewhere beneath the ice you are still soft. Still hoping someone will hear the cracking. Still waiting for the surface to shatter before you disappear completely.
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