Rooms Without Windows
I locked myself inside a breathless space,
No window there to prove the world was real.
The silence whispered blame I couldn’t face –
A wound too loud for time alone to heal.
I thought if I stayed still, the noise would die.
But quiet only fed the things I dread.
They circled back like vultures overhead, high –
Too much unsaid, too much that screamed instead.
I wrote in halves, afraid to find my name
In full, as if the truth would burn my skin.
But daylight doesn’t ask for me to shame –
It knocks, then waits for me to let it in.
I never found the meaning, just the door –
And sometimes that’s enough to say no more.
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