It comes quiet at first, like a whisper,
a shadow slipping through the cracks,
a weight settling in the bones,
a voice that sounds too much like your own.

It feeds on silence, on long nights,
on the anger that curls behind your ribs,
on the moments no one sees
the ones where the mask slips, just for a breath.

Some days, you push back.
Dig heels into the earth,
claw toward something… anything… that reminds you you’re still here.

Other days, you don’t.
You let it settle, let it pull,
watch the world through tired eyes
and wonder if the fight is worth it.

And then comes the moment.
The choice, the step, the fall, the flight.
One way or the other,
it never looked so good.