YOU and I

You and I we are not anymore we used to be light. I remember laughter that didn’t hurt, dreams that still believed in me. But the world took my joy and buried it beneath screams no one would hear. I wasn’t born for darkness — but it found me anyway. They broke me in ways I can’t name, then blamed me for not smiling. Even my own blood went cold — my eyes, sharp with disappointment, my siblings — strangers in my own home. I chased comfort in chaos, believing noise could drown the silence. But every choice I made cut another scar into my soul. Then came the words no heart wants to hear — syllables in white coats, a name for the sickness inside me. No cure. Just time. I tried to dream, but hope slipped through my trembling fingers. So I ran — from home, from them, from everything. But pain ran faster. And slowly… I changed. The girl who forgave stopped believing in mercy. The girl who cried started to burn instead. Now I walk alone — friends with just me, myself, and I. My circle is small, but my silence is loyal. Now I wear darkness like perfume, and silence like a crown. I wasn’t born a monster. They made me one. And though my heart is ash, I still feel her — the girl who only wanted to be loved.