Content warning: suicidal ideation
There’s a silence that sings in the marrow of bones,
A cold that clings where the warm wind once roamed.
The mirror won’t meet me, the clock moves too slow, and I carry a weight that no one can know.
I smile in fragments stitched out of grace, wearing brightness like a borrowed face.
Some days I vanish behind my own eyes, other days I reach, but I don’t know why.
But then a bird maybe, or a child’s crooked grin, a scent of something sweet drifting in,
It doesn’t stay, it never does,
but it reminds me of what once was.
There’s beauty letting in.
I don’t always feel it, I don’t always try.
But sometimes I breathe and it doesn’t feel like
I want to die.