Fantom pain

Depression is like a severed arm Once part of you — now torn, alarmed. You feel the phantom, feel the ache, A hollow throb you can’t unmake. It used to hold, to write, to build, Now silence where once life was filled. People stare, then look away, Not sure what words they ought to say. It bleeds in ways you cannot see, Invisible, but constantly. You wrap it up, pretend you’re fine, While pain still pulses down your spine. You learn to smile with crooked grace, While darkness wraps a cold embrace. Some days it whispers, soft and low, “Why try at all? Just let it go.” You try to fight, to stitch the seam, To chase the fragments of a dream. But even joy feels out of place, Like laughter carved into your face. It drips like ink, it spreads like mold, It settles in your chest ice-cold. You scream inside — but no one hears, Your words get drowned beneath your fears