In the deep night, I swallowed myself

In the deep night, I swallowed myself, A shard of glass sharp in the throat of silence, Shards carving the outline of a lost being, There was a girl who wept like winter rivers. With a heart split, cold and merciless, Drowned in the hunger of being too much, never enough, I pressed my face to the mirror of cold cruelty, Trying to recognize the eyes of a stranger. Watching as she bled silently in the cracks of time, Her silence louder than any scream, I shed the soft skin of lost innocence, Falling away like dead leaves in late autumn. Revealing a skeleton forged from fire and regrets, I carry with me the ghosts of every lost version, Each a mark, a wound, a silent prayer, And sometimes, when night is sharp, I hear their voices. Broken cradles in the dark, murmuring to me that I'm not broken, But merely becoming, in every whisper of the night, Telling me I'm not lost, but transforming, Like an old song, echoing in the deep silence.