It waits in corners,
a whisper dressed in shadows,
calling me back
with promises of silence.

The thought presses sharp
against the edge of my mind,
like a blade I no longer hold
but still remember.

Some nights it hums
like a song I once knew by heart,
soft, dangerous,
asking me to sing along.

But my hands stay empty.
My skin stays whole.
I breathe through the ache
and let the music pass.

I will not dance
to that rhythm again.
Even if it circles me forever,
I keep walking forward.