They call it sadness
as if it’s gentle.
As if it doesn’t claw its way
through ribs at 3AM,
leaving bite marks on your will to live.

I smiled yesterday
the kind of smile
you give when you’re drowning
and no one sees the water.
I said “I’m fine”
because breaking down takes too much energy.

I carry silence like a second skin,
peeling pieces of myself
just to feel something.
Even the mirror flinches now.

Some nights I pray,
not for peace,
but for emptiness
because even pain
is too heavy to hold forever.

But I’m still here.
Barely breathing,
brutally honest,
and that has to count
for something.