The Lie I Live. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

The Lie I Live
I rot in the hollow of my bed,
frozen in a room where warmth forgot my name.
Thoughts crawl like insects through my skull,
each one tearing at the seams of my sanity.

I know there's no escape.
Not from this mind.
Not from this life.
But I still claw at the walls of hope
with bloodied fingers,
wishing for a crack—
a fracture in the silence
where light might slip through.

I'm tired of the lie,
but I wear it like skin:
"I'm fine."
"Tomorrow will be better."
"This pain has a purpose."

I whisper it to the darkness,
even as it laughs in my face,
because I don't know how much longer
I can hold on—
to breath,
to thought,
to anything
that doesn't want to drown me MIRAK