I’m the shadow that lingers at the edge of the room, more comfortable in moonlight than sunlight. My heart is a graveyard of unspoken words and unfinished songs. I wear black not for fashion, but because it mirrors the storm inside.
I believe beauty lives in the broken things—cracked voices, torn journal pages, forgotten places. I write to survive, bleed through my pen, and feel too much in a world that feels too little.
Don’t mistake my silence for emptiness. I’m just waiting for someone who sees the poetry in pain, the art in darkness, and the truth in scars. If your soul is heavy too, maybe we’ll find some light in each other’s shadows.
