Install Steam
login | language
简体中文 (Simplified Chinese) 繁體中文 (Traditional Chinese) 日本語 (Japanese) 한국어 (Korean) ไทย (Thai) Български (Bulgarian) Čeština (Czech) Dansk (Danish) Deutsch (German) Español - España (Spanish - Spain) Español - Latinoamérica (Spanish - Latin America) Ελληνικά (Greek) Français (French) Italiano (Italian) Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian) Magyar (Hungarian) Nederlands (Dutch) Norsk (Norwegian) Polski (Polish) Português (Portuguese - Portugal) Português - Brasil (Portuguese - Brazil) Română (Romanian) � усский (Russian) Suomi (Finnish) Svenska (Swedish) Türkçe (Turkish) Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese) Українська (Ukrainian) Report a translation problem
like fabric pulled too tight within.
I walk the line, not quite by choice,
a hush beneath the louder voice.
I trade my peace for fleeting light,
for those I love, I blur the fight.
And still, I wonder—soft and low—
how much must bend before I break,
and no one knows.
I walk where heavy midnight goes.
I know the spells to break the bind—
a softer voice, a quieter mind.
But hands unseen reset the maze,
and sun dissolves in neon haze.
The world is loud, and I am still,
a whispered thought against its will.
I carry light I cannot burn,
a tide of truth the stars won’t learn.
a whispering wound in the fabric of now,
where the air is thick with forgotten echoes,
where the sky folds inward like an unspoken apology.
I once ran barefoot through the marrow of youth,
chasing laughter that never learned to die.
Now my feet drag through tar-thick time,
each moment clawing at my ribs,
each breath a debt I cannot pay.
The road ahead is a jawbone of shadows,
teeth bared, waiting—
a predator patient enough to let me walk
just far enough to believe in escape.
Anxiety perches on my spine like a crow,
picking apart the sinew of my resolve,
turning the past to a hunger I cannot feed,
turning the future to a throat-tight blur.
Somewhere behind me, the good days still hum,
a song muffled by distance,
a melody I cannot mouth anymore.
But forward—
forward is where the bruises bloom.
And still, I walk.