empty agony

I stood on the edge, staring down at the rocks at the bottom, beckoning me forward, telling me: *Just take the leap. No one cares. They all hate you anyway. Your poems don't reach any hearts.* But all I could do was stand. Something was holding me. Something cared. It might have been invisible, but something wouldn’t let me jump. So all I could do was fall—to my knees, punching my hands into the dirt until my knuckles bled, screaming at the sky, demanding answers. All I got was silence. And as I sat there—broken, dirty, and beaten—I felt it. The breath in my lungs, short and ragged, but there. The blood dripping down my knuckles and hitting the ground. The tears falling down my cheeks. The pain. The emptiness. The hurt. The anger. The confusion. But I also felt the moments—the tiny things I had deemed unimportant. I felt everything, all at once. And in feeling it all, in that single moment, I felt human.