I’ll Rise, I Swear

The aftermath of the quake—

a heavy silence I can't fake.

Struggling hard just to breathe,

the world thins beneath my feet.

No bricks broke, no buildings fell,

but inside me, a crater dwells.

Yellow dreams begin to fade,

as I whisper: *You made this blade.*

I was wrong—I'll take the hit.

I deserve the fall, every bit.

I won’t repeat—I’ll rise, I swear.

They won’t scar me—I’ll repair.

My pillow knows the silent screams,

the blood-red threads that stitch my dreams.

I bang my head—a desperate mark,

now the sheets drink something dark.

She exaggerates, spins the tale—

a ring of noise, a bitter wail.

“What, are you the only one in pain?”

they say, as if that heals the strain.

Empathy's lost, a foreign tongue,

where worth is weighed in how deep you've sunk.

A sea of sorrow, cold and wide,

but I won’t drown—I'll learn to ride.

Wells are filled with tears unshed,

a thousand thoughts inside my head…

But even in this fractured night,

a single breath can spark the fight