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Strength has rusted deep into my spine, a beautiful, corroded iron,
Twisting through each vertebra like a vine of steel, a bittersweet trap,
They call it resilience, but I call it a silent tomb, a milestone of my soul,
I sleep in armor that no longer opens, each breath becomes a negotiation
Between the instinct to survive and the desire to surrender, a silent duel of experiences.
Even tears can no longer find their way out, they turn into steam,
And hiss inside the helmet, a strange music of unrelieved pain,
A battlefield of trapped emotions, where every sigh is an echo,
An untold story, a wish for rust to become light again,
But until then, the armor remains a sanctuary of silence and patience.
In the depths of this iron tomb, thoughts dance like flames,
Trying to find a rhythm between the heartbeats and the heavy silence,
A labyrinth of memories and sensations, an uninterrupted flow of lost images,
For even in captivity, my soul seeks to fly, to escape,
To turn rust into wings, to write a new story on the starry sky.
There, in the silence between beats, I learn to embrace the armor as a skin,
A protective layer and yet a burden, a paradox of protection and imprisonment,
But perhaps, one day, I will unlock it, face the wind and the light,
And let the steam rise, the tears flow, and the heart breathe freely,
Until then, I continue to live between iron and dream, between resilience and liberation.

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