Farewell Letter. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

Another Farewell Letter (Darker Version)

Every night,
I pack my bags
for a place that doesn't exist—
a wasteland stitched from silence,
where I pretend
my heart still beats
for something other than escape.

There's no judgment there,
only ghosts
who nod in understanding
as I bleed out stories
I never dared to speak.
The healing here
is slow,
like rot in reverse.

I hide my scars
not from shame,
but because I know
how quickly the world
turns wounds
into weapons.

A cold hand—
skeletal and steady—
reaches from the void,
not to save me,
but to pull me
deeper.
It shows me a world
where the chains dissolve,
but the hollowness remains.

Maybe I don't want to return.
Maybe this isn't a dream,
but a funeral procession
marching through my veins.

Another farewell letter
scratched in ash and bone,
left on the threshold
between sleep and surrender.
And if I wake,
I'll find myself still imprisoned
in this skin,
still buried
beneath the weight
of unshed screams.

So here—
another poem
for those still chained
to their own darkness,
still waiting
for the abyss
to finally
let go. MIRAK