Days like these—
they rob me blind.
A single word,
a shift in pitch,
one glance sharp as shattered glass—
that’s all it took.

The coffin creaked open,
my silence undone.
Fears once buried
crawled out, screaming.
Time? A liar.
It never stitched these wounds.
My demons bleed still—
open, raw, relentless.

They feast beneath my skin,
tear at me with grins
twisted in triumph.
Years of calm—
broken like brittle bone.
What must I offer now?
What test remains?
What lesson carved
in agony’s ink
does God still want me to learn?

I never asked
for this war within.
Yet here I stand,
a battlefield
you built
in my own mind.

Pain flickered in our eyes—
mine, and the soul staring back.
They weren’t the source,
yet wore the guilt
of wounds they never gave.
Because I—
a fool made of glass—
shatter under hands
that never meant to break me.