Tonight I Cried

Tonight I cried. The silence after giving was louder than my music ever dared to be. Six cards, six names—none turned toward me. I asked why. The void answered with its back. Tonight I walked into the open like a soldier with no armor. The wind was a warning. The world—cold, familiar. I pulled my hood like a curtain on a play no one watched, and met the only warmth in the arms of the dark. Tonight I mourned the dream they stole. The boy who wanted to be heard, not hunted. I wept for melodies silenced before their chorus. For innocence—buried beneath their scorn. Tonight I swallowed the fire and named it resilience. Do I burn for thirty more years, pretending it fuels me? Or do I smolder silently while Hell writes sonnets on the walls of my chest? Tonight I stood. Shaking. Stubborn. Each tear a blade carving poems into stone. You hate me? Fine. Then fear this: I survived you. Tonight I saluted your damnation with a spine forged in grief. Let your indifference rot in its own echo— I will still create. Tonight I cried. But tomorrow, I sing.