Sleepy poem
J_Eyre
Registrant
With every brush against my skin, the fire wakes again.
I bite my tongue and steel my face, but nothing hides the pain.
I suffer still in silence deep—no balm to make me whole.
I speak to shadows in my head, the echo of my soul.
Their silence is the only sound that ever stays with me.
I’ve learned to live without a key, locked in my own decree.
At least alone, I do no harm—no wounds from loving me.
Relief’s a tale that’s always told, but not one I’ll ever see.
Each fleeting hope becomes a weight that drags the soul below.
No promise soothes, no dream survives, no spark is left to grow.
I drown in thoughts I cannot kill nor cast into the deep.
It haunts me every night—its price is always steep.
I bite my tongue and steel my face, but nothing hides the pain.
I suffer still in silence deep—no balm to make me whole.
I speak to shadows in my head, the echo of my soul.
Their silence is the only sound that ever stays with me.
I’ve learned to live without a key, locked in my own decree.
At least alone, I do no harm—no wounds from loving me.
Relief’s a tale that’s always told, but not one I’ll ever see.
Each fleeting hope becomes a weight that drags the soul below.
No promise soothes, no dream survives, no spark is left to grow.
I drown in thoughts I cannot kill nor cast into the deep.
It haunts me every night—its price is always steep.
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