I’ve got
seven songs
on repeat.
They don’t ask me to talk.
They don’t tell me to cheer up.
They just play,
quietly,
loudly,
however I need them.
Vestige
whispers
like a ghost I once knew,
soft, aching—
it holds my breath in its careful hands
and never asks
why I’m fading.
Caramel drips down
slow and sweet,
like it knows my ribs
are tired of holding it all in.
It doesn’t try to fix me—
it just sits,
a quiet sadness
that understands.
When The Sun Sleeps
doesn’t sleep at all—
it screams,
loud, raw, honest.
It bleeds the things I buried
and somehow,
that noise feels more like home
than silence ever did.
Overflow crashes like a wave
right when I thought I was dry.
It drowns me—
but gently,
like rage that remembers
I’m still human.
To The Flowers
sounds like falling apart
and finally letting go.
It’s heavy,
but blooms in the dark,
grief growing
into something real.
Nero Forte fights for me
when I’m too tired to fight myself.
It’s chaos—pure,
relentless—
a storm I can scream into
and still
walk out of.
When It Rains
makes me feel fifteen and fragile,
but soft enough
to remind me
I’m not wrong
for feeling everything
too much.
These seven songs don’t save me.
They don’t have to.
They just stay—
and some nights,
that’s the only thing
that keeps me here.
The songs are Vestige by Mirrors, Caramel by Sleep Token, When the Sun sleeps by Underoath, Overflow by Polaris, To the Flowers by While She Sleeps, Nero Forte by Slipknot and When it Rains by Paramore.
