The world waits, bleeding
an empty canvas cracked and bruised,
hungry for the pain you hide,
for the truth you’re too afraid to speak aloud.

You can paint their lies again,
recycle old ghosts like comfort blankets,
or you can bleed ink
rip open your soul and spill its darkness raw.

This is no gentle call
it’s a reckoning.
The silence is choking, the shadows closing in,
and only the brutal truth will cut through the rot.

You are the fracture,
the jagged edge they fear
the voice that won’t be silenced,
the fire that devours the lies.

Write with scars,
create with fury
because this empty canvas demands more than pretty words.

It demands your soul,
your rage, your brokenness
or it will swallow you whole.

So, what will you do?
Hide in shadows or burn the night down?