This poem is from a series of texts I have written in the past few days. I'm not yet ready to talk about what drove me to write so much, but you may be able to pick up some clues. And if not, time will come when I'll finally speak up.
have the scars been inflicted by me? for the spark may be lost unseen. when all what's down deep "darkness!" screams; emptiness, with a tiny light? or nothing, should i ever close my eyes. in despair i stay and the wind passes through me but i can't feel the breeze as my mind freezes and body tumbles. what restarts the rainfall if not seas of tears? but i feel numb. confused. dumb. nothing at all. holding onto the last strand which through sands carries me, locked in yet still wanting to let go despite the cries i disregard. i'm not a victim but a victim i play i don't suffer i pretend the pain for what, to gain what's not mine to keep? through overflowing thoughts i sleep. once i weep but it's not enough. i hide, i seek what answers the creek of questions, and wears off the pretends, the lies, discerns feathers from lice, corn from rice, and shatters compromise. but there's nothing outside and with hollowness within am i unworthy of my own, hazy dream? through the sands i'll sift with the breeze i'll fly shall the spring carry the bloom and bring forward the fruits of gloom the past stumbled upon, but never unraveled. 2026-06-24