I once woke to the weight of a world gone cold, where the silence screams and my memories scold.

The walls encasing me remain unscathed, yet their oppressive presence ignites a fire within. They claim I willingly embraced this descent from virtue, but the truth is, deceit often wears a guise of righteousness.

I’ve heard whispers behind closed doors, truths twisted sharp as swords.

You etched my name into the fabric of your story, then bore witness to my descent into the depths of your sacred shroud.

But I remember the love I knew—

Echoes of ghosts linger in the familiar spaces I once traversed. I stretch out my hands, yearning to grasp those I can no longer touch, searching for warmth that has long since faded, for stories that remain untold, hidden in the shadows of memory.

Your laughter lives in another land,

out of my reach, out of my hands.

Still, I rise from this ash and bone,

though I’ve never felt more lost, more alone.

I carry the guilt that’s not even mine, branded by blame, repackaged as crime.

I know what the mirror won’t show—

The truths you hide, the ache they sow. I walk through this fire with silent grace, yet in this hell, I do not die. I bleed, I break, but still, I continue to try. Because love, though torn, still fuels my fight.

A flicker of defiance ignites amidst the vast darkness, hinting at what is to come. Lets rest for now, as the stories prepare to unfold, for I know that their empty ideals of justice will soon face their reckoning.

I’ve stared down hell and emerged strong, alive in the smoke, burning brightly against the dark.

-🦩