I rode the levels—highs that crack the sky,
lows that kiss the floor of hell.
Still, the phantom taste of something lingers—
some product, some poison,
some memory that won’t let go.
They tried to run with my soul,
tried to ruin its shine—
but it slipped,
like morning mist dissolving in the breath of dawn.
Too beautiful to hold. Too broken to stay.
I’m scared of the day
I stop feeling fear.
Scared of the moment my pride
gets buried beneath
the wreckage of past traumas
crashing into today’s pain,
tangled in hospital beds
and sterile sheets that know my name too well.
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