The weight of silence wraps me tight,
A cloak of dusk that bears no stars—
The walls grow closer every night,
And faintly hum with hidden scars.
My thoughts, like moths, they spiral near,
Drawn to flames that barely glow.
They flutter soft, yet breed such fear,
A gentle ache I cannot show.
I tread on air, yet feel the stones,
Each step a tremble, sharp and thin.
The hours echo with hollow tones,
The empty laughter deep within.
I reach for calm in clouds and skies,
Yet find no light in morning's breath.
A fragile shell, my spirit lies,
A shade that walks a shade of death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Get help. You clearly need it. I sensed you we're having problems long ago, but … well, now, you are clearly making a call for help, but only you can help yourself. Make the call—get help NOW when you still can, my friend.