I wear my wounds like a second skin, Not proud — but I won’t hold them in. A raging war beneath my chest, Each breath a curse, each thought a test. And when the lights begin to dim, A shadow scrapes the shade within. The darkness only claims its own, Porcelain moons crown me with thorns. I ache to live, I ache to breathe, I’m about to drown where angels grieve. I’m not a saint, I’m not my end— Thus I refuse just to pretend. You see a smile—it’s made of glass, A fragile shine too thin to last. I wear my sorrow on my sleeve, Not for glory—it just must be. And when the night comes crawling in, A shadow scrapes the shade within. The darkness only claims its own, Phantoms chant of sins I can’t atone. I ache to live, I ache to breathe, I’m about to sink where demons sleep. I’m not your myth, I’m not your flame— But I am fire wrapped in shame. If pain’s a badge, then call me marked, A torch I raise to pierce the dark. I’m bleeding, screaming, still I try— Not ready yet to face the sky. The darkness only claims its own, The quiet makes my failures feel like home. I want to stay, I want to fight, To be more than just a fractured sight. I’m not a ghost, I’m not a dream— I want to rise, I want to heal.
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