Numb..

Isolation wraps around me like a dim-lit corridor,
a place where even my echoes have learned to keep quiet.The tragedies I carried didn’t just bruise —
they rewrote the architecture of my insides,
left whole chambers cold and uninhabited.Numbness settled in those empty rooms,
not as mercy,
but as a slow, creeping frost
that taught me how to stop feeling without dying.And in this silence,
I find a strange kind of shelter —
not comfort,
but the absence of anything sharp enough
to cut me again.I sit with the darkness because it knows my name,
and because it asks nothing of me
except to exist quietly
in the ruins I’ve become.