Blood spills from her wounds,
yet she stays still—frigid, detached.Blades kiss her spine,but it feels no deeperthan a feather's graze.Bullets threaten her chest,and still,she wears that hollow smile.A chain silences her voice—but her eyes remain calm,unwavering.Thorns crawl through her mind,unraveling thought after thought,yet she holds her ground.Nails hammered in her veins—but her soul,unbroken.No tears.No screams.No surrender.Only the stillness of survivingby numbingwhat no one else sees.
- The Quiet Survival
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꒷꒦
YOU ARE READING
the words I kept
Poetry"𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱..." these are the feelings I carried with me, thoughts I held back, scars I hid, and all the words I kept; my friend and my foe. Warning: some may be triggering, dis...
