Voices in the Void

Without my pen, the pain becomes my voice. The cruelty of others, the hardness of their hearts, Linger in this place of cult, Where public shaming is currency. I scream for help, face to face, Yet they cast me deeper into despair. Tears bleed red, patience drains, My heart trembles, a silent echo in the vast universe. My eyes never dry, my body weakens, Heart torn apart, full of anguish, Yet no one feels the depth within; They mistrust the plea for help. This is my story, my life— Manipulated by whispers, By cults hiding in plain sight. Insecurity among them breeds cruelty. They lurk at corners, ready to strike. I called for help. He laughed: "You're funny." How can real danger ever sound like a joke? This is the world's cruel reality: Where chasing money and shifting blame Leave no space for help. And still—I believe, somewhere, somehow, kindness awaits— like a single candle glimmering in the heart of the void.