In silent rooms, the shadows swell,
A quiet blaze, my private hell.
No flame to see, no smoke to smell,
Yet every thought becomes a cell.
Regret drips slow, like melting wax,
Past echoes twist in cruel attacks.
Hope flickers faint, then folds its wings,
And doubt sits crowned, the darkest king.
Ashes of “should have,” burnt to dust,
Bones of my courage turned to rust.
Words I can’t speak, wounds left unseen,
A war inside where none intervene.
But still I rise on blistered feet,
Scarred by the fire I can’t defeat.
For though I burn, I breathe, I tell—
There’s strength that grows in inner hell.
©samdisha
S