Darkness breathes down my neck.

My room is an ocean with no lighthouse,

everything washed in tired blue, in crumbling grey.

Days fade backwards, but I don’t.

I just watch the world drift away

while my hands reach nothing.

I stay quiet.

Quiet, even when I’m screaming inside.

Inside my head, there’s a bar that never closes.

Outside everything burns, but I hide behind the noise.

I watch the lights flicker,

the bodies collide,

lives breaking like bottles on the floor.

And I stay still,

pretending nothing is happening,

as if watching was enough to survive.

The music hits harder than my heartbeat.

I don’t think, I don’t understand, I don’t belong.

I just exist:

two feet that refuse to fall,

a body that endures,

a mind unraveling without warning.

My life walks past me,

and I don’t even look at it.

The whole story is still burning.

The memory of falling in love

with the one I swore would never become my wound.

Now I look back and wonder

if I truly never saw it coming,

or if I closed my eyes on purpose

because I was doomed from the start.

I dance, I laugh, I blur into the smoke.

I cover myself in borrowed colors

to hide the collapse inside.

I’m a body pretending to live,

while quietly drowning in my own fears.

I don’t say it,

but I’m breaking.

Reality bites and doesn’t let go.

You’ve given me enough proof:

your life has no space for me.

And still, I stay, clinging

to this love like a wild horse—

a force that drags me,

hurts me,

refuses to be tamed.

I remain, even if it hurts.

Even if it destroys me.