It’s buried deep inside me,
a storm that never stops raging—
quiet but violent,
always there,
a ticking time bomb of memories
I can’t escape.

I wear it like a cloak,
this suffocating silence,
heavy on my shoulders
with every breath I take.
The world looks at me,
and they see someone whole,
someone “fine,”
but they don’t know
the battle raging beneath my skin,
the chaos I carry,
the weight of things
I’ll never say.

Some days, it’s a whisper—
just a thought that makes my heart race,
a flicker of something dark
lurking behind my eyes.
Other days,
it’s a scream,
louder than anything I’ve ever known,
ripping through my chest,
but it never escapes.
It’s trapped—
locked in a cage of my own making,
pounding against the walls
until I feel like I’m drowning.

I try to move forward,
to pretend it’s not there,
but it pulls me back,
grips me with hands I can’t see,
and drags me into the past,
where everything is broken
and I can’t breathe.

The shadows follow me,
always watching,
waiting for the moment
I slip,
for the cracks to show,
for me to fall apart.
But I don’t let them see it—
I hold it in,
buried deep beneath the surface,
like a wound that never heals.

And yet, somehow,
I keep going.
One foot in front of the other,
even though the ground feels like it’s sinking.
I keep walking,
fighting against the ghosts
that never let me rest.