He traces the lines in his hands,
the ones his father clenched in rage,
the ones his mother pointed with blame.
Flesh remembers what the mind would rather forget.

His father lived at the bottom of a bottle,
drowning while the world burned behind him.
His mother fed the flames,
denying the smoke curling from her tongue.

They danced their war in shattered glass and silence,
a duet of bruises and bitter words.
And he, he was the audience,
watching, learning, becoming.

Now love stands before him,
soft hands reaching, warm eyes pleading,
but he flinches at the touch,
hears his father’s anger in his breath,
his mother’s poison in his words.

How can he hold without hurting?
How can he love without war?
They never deserved this
so why should he?

So he steps back,
fingers curling into fists he never throws,
words dying on a tongue that will not lie.
Because love should not taste like blood.
Because love should not feel like home.

the curtains close; the lights go black.
metal clicks, a breath is held,
then silence.
..
...
boom
..
...
the echo stretches, clinging to empty air.
then, light.
the curtains shudder, slowly parting.
the walls weep red.
the ceiling scarred.

my head is gone, but I feel no shame.
for my life was a performance, a scripted lie,
each act rehearsed, each line refined.

yet when the final act arrived,
the seats were empty.

to rest in the gentle brown earth,
with grasses swaying above in mirth,
where silence is the only sound,
no yesterday, no morrow to be found.

to forget the weight of passing time,
to forget the trials of this life's climb,
in peaceful slumber, i'd be released,
in death's embrace, i'd find my peace

amidst the blooms, a whispered sigh,
in petals grace, i wonder why.
life's vibrant hues, so vast and wide,
conceal the fears that dwell inside.

in beauty's mask, i try to hide,
a secret fear, i can't abide.
to live's a dance, to death, we glide,
in both i seek what's locked inside.

like petals trembling, kissed by night,
i fear the day's relentless light,
yet in the dark, shadows ignite,
the bloom of fears, their hidden flight.

in the garden's depths, where shadows play,
in the petals, i lose my way.
beneath the blossoms, secrets reside,
i seek a haven from the world outside.

each bloom conceals a story untold,
in whispered hues of red and gold.
yet, in their beauty, i find no peace,
only a fleeting, fragile release.

like a wilting rose, i long to part,
from the thorns that pierce this wounded heart.
in the silent garden, where dreams take flight,
i yearn for solace in the depths of night.

who am i, truly, deep in my core?
i am me, yes, but is there more?
which "me" is real, which one can be seen?
in the mirror of my mind, who is the "me" in between?

the thought still haunts my nights,
of someone discovering whats hidden from sight,
the tracks of what used to be, my actions dark trace,
the secrets i carry, the scars i will never embrace.

in the back of my mind, where echoes resound,
i contend with my actions that weigh me down.
the questions remain, but no answers in sight,
in silence i face the dread of the night.

in the silence of this empty room, i dwell,
reflecting on where my life may have fell,
overwhelmed by thoughts that cloud my mind,
selfdoubt whispers softly, hard to leave behind.

the shadows dance upon the walls so bare,
as i search for answers, for someone to care,
in this solitude, i grapple with my fears,
tears of uncertainty, i've cried countless years.

could it be that i'm the root of all my strife?
perhaps i'm not destined for this so called life.