I am utterly exhausted by this relentless play, The heavy curtain of performance drawn too long. I cannot hold the hollow smile another day, To mask the deep, the aching emptiness that’s wrong.
The burden of a self that isn’t mine to wear, To fit the mold you fashioned, cruel and tight, An agonizing stretch away from who I care To be—my own identity, eclipsed by your light. You see a project, a design that must be met, But tell me, why must the authentic me be cast aside?
I am finished fabricating reasons I have set, For every thought and every reaction I can’t hide. I’ve justified my nature to a vacant crowd, To people who, I now accept, simply don’t care.
The painful truth: my hope was spoken out loud, A unilateral effort lost on thin, cold air. I poured my heart to mend what broke between, But found no shared commitment, no reciprocal tide, A solitary swimmer in an apathetic scene.
The loneliness, a constant, heavy friend, A silent weight that settles on my weary chest. It is an awful life, but if this is the end— The price of being whole, of being finally blessed To be myself—then I will pay the cost, Choosing difficult solitude to rescue what was lost.
A burning, sharp anger now begins to rise, A desperate need to shatter this profound pain. But I know with bleak certainty in my own eyes, That fury would be wasted, dissipating like the rain.
This crushing truth has settled, stark and clear: Nothing I say, nothing I do or fail to be, Holds any weight for them, for those who stand so near. My voice is mute, my actions they refuse to see.
They are truly, utterly indifferent to my strife, They do not pause to question what my heart endures. My suffering, my struggle, the very pulse of life, Is an irrelevance that their coldness secures.
I feel the urge to weep the entire day away, To curl beneath the covers, let the sadness claim, But reason whispers of a temporary stay, No lasting remedy to solve this bitter game.
The torrent of resentment pleads to be set free, A physical demand I check with weary hand, Because the simple, crushing truth remains with me: It will not change a thing across this barren land.
A complete despair now chills me to the bone, In this cold context, in this life they have defined, The heartbreaking finality I stand upon alone, The truth that leaves no solace for the mind:
It was not a solo journey, It was meant for both of us to keep. A path shared, a mutual destiny, A bond where promises run deep. We walked side by side, our footprints one, A single narrative of hope begun.
But the story broke, the path was closed, I stood on the chasm’s crumbling brim, As a silhouette, slowly transposed Into the inevitable, growing dim. The ‘we’ became an ‘I’, a hollow sound, In this desolate, forsaken ground.
Ashes and dust are all that stay Of the bright fire we held in trust, A barren landscape, grey today, Where life dissolved in the air’s cruel gust. The physical presence is no more, Leaving the grit of loss upon the floor.
Then voices come from the periphery, Offering platitudes in careful phrase. They say, “It is not personal, you see,” A necessary turn in cosmic haze. A consequence, unavoidable and stark, A wheel that turns and leaves no malice mark.
They speak these words, so cold and clinical, To soothe a wound they cannot comprehend. Do they expect a heart, now critical, To take this lie, this foolishness they send? To call abandonment ‘impersonal’ then claim It takes the searing edges from the pain?
It is a construct, fragile and designed To shield their own complicity from view. Lies and more lies are spun to leave behind Their failures of commitment, wholly true. The architects of ruin hide their face, Behind the veil of fate or bureaucratic space.
They see my silence and begin to doubt, Why I won’t trust their flimsy, weak assurance; They wonder why my quiet stays throughout Their clumsy, hollow show of endurance. Is their concern a genuine desire to know The depth of the betrayal’s silent blow?
Or is the query just a social art, A reflex uttered in a scripted play? Do they care for me, the broken, scattered part, Or am I just a failure they wish away? I let the fine, particulate dust stream in— The dust of forgetting, where true wounds begin.
I scan the empty space, a vacant stare, Where is the circle that was meant to hold? I know they exist, breathing their own air, In parallel worlds of comfort, brave and bold. Not here with me, not for me in this plight, Not in the core of this seismic, lonely night.
It was meant to be the two of us, you see, Walking the sunset, weathering the storm. The fundamental premise of our entity. But I was left alone, without the warm, Not just abandoned, but deliberately selected For solitary confinement, unprotected.
A cold clarity begins its slow, strange birth, The isolation may not be a curse, But a final, hard-won gift of self-worth. Maybe it’s best to sift these ashes terse, Unbound by promises that turned to frail dust. In this quiet, hard-won peace is final trust.
I hide myself away, retreating from the world’s harsh light, To hide from those I fear, the shadows that invade the night. The whispers and the judging eyes, they pierce me to the core, So I draw the curtains closed, and lock the heavy door. I hide myself away, within this solitary keep, A silent farewell for now, while deeper secrets sleep.
The silence of this self-made cell becomes a heavy shroud, I cried myself to sleep, a soundless weeping in the crowd. To hide and weep, my body shaking with the strain, To hide and weep, to wash away the bitter, throbbing pain. Each tear a wasted moment, falling in the deep, As promises I couldn’t keep haunt me while I sleep.
A sharp regret now cuts the air: Why did I waste so much time? Consumed by baseless fear, an unforgivable, self-made crime. To fear what they say, the empty words that hold no weight, To let their careless judgments seal my solitary fate. I should have stood defiant, met their gaze with fiery pride, But cowardice took hold, and left me here to hide.
Again, the darkness calls me down, the cycle starts anew, I cried myself to sleep, until the morning filtered through. To hide and weep, a ritual of sorrow and despair, To hide and weep, a burden that my heart can barely bear. This isolation is a monster, feeding on my will, A self-imposed exile upon this lonely, silent hill.
But then a whisper rises, fragile yet defined, A voice that speaks of freedom, leaving fear behind. Open the doors, let sunlight flood the dust and gloom, And hide no more, escape this cold and empty room. Open the doors, the hinges squeak with long disuse, And hide no more, relinquish every weak excuse. The world awaits beyond the latch, vibrant and so vast, A future built on courage, leaving shadows in the past.
I cried myself to sleep, a memory that starts to fade, Wasting so much time, upon a path too long delayed. Wasting so much time, a treasure carelessly set free, But now the lock is broken, and the key belongs to me. The sun on my face is a promise, clear and bold, A new story beginning, waiting to unfold.
