Each day I wake, a silent war
No marching drums, no lion’s roar.
Just heavy limbs and hollow eyes,
And dreams that fracture when I rise.

The sun feels distant, cold, and cruel,
Its warmth a lie, its light a tool.
My thoughts, like chains, wrap tight around,
And pull me down without a sound.

Depression waits behind the glass,
It whispers truths that never pass:
"You're worthless now, you'll always be
A weight, a wound, a mockery."

I wear a mask, I play the part,
But cracks run deep within my heart.
They smile and speak I nod along,
While inside me, nothing feels wrong.

Not wrong, not right just dead and still,
A vacant house atop a hill.
And yet I move, and yet I breathe,
While sorrow coils beneath my sleeve.

Some nights, I drown in silent screams,
In battles fought inside my dreams.
But morning comes I stand again,
Still stitched together by my pain.

Not healed. Not whole. Not shining bright.
But dragging shadows into light.
And if I fall, I’ll rise once more,
Though bruised, though bent, though ****** sore.

So let the dark come stake its claim,
I'll face it all, I'll take the flame.
For even if I lose the day,
I fought—I fought—and didn’t stray.