Echoes of Broken Self

 

Running from myself, chasing shadows that aren’t mine,

I’ve been carving out pieces of my soul to fit into molds that crumble.

This isn’t who I am—

it never was, it could never be.

I hate the way I drift,

circling others, losing myself.

But solitude isn’t salvation;

it’s just an echo that deepens the void.

Tears fall, but they’re just water—

they carry none of the weight, none of the ache.

My heart remains heavy,

a stone I cannot lift.

I want to move forward,

but I’m trapped in the same place,

blaming my mind, blaming myself—

but excuses aren’t enough anymore.

Something inside is off,

something isn’t right.

It’s not sadness, not anger, not fear—

just an empty, numbing heaviness.

that even time refuses to heal.

Talking exhausts me.

Breathing exhausts me.

Living feels like drowning in stillness.

So here I lie,

caught in this in-between,

hating what I’ve become

but too tired to fight my way out.