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In the quiet folds of the mind, it lurks,
A shadow draped in whispers, unseen,
Yet its weight palpable, heavy,
Like a stone resting upon the chest.
It is the ache that knows no origin,
No rhyme or reason in its arrival,
A guest unwelcome, yet persistent,
Seeping into the cracks of existence.
In the hollow hours of the night,
It dances with the ghosts of past sorrows,
Weaving threads of doubt and despair,
Tying knots in the fabric of hope.
Days stretch into endless corridors,
Each step heavier than the last,
As the world outside spins on,
A carousel of fleeting joys.
It is a silence that screams,
A numbness that burns,
A labyrinth with no exit in sight,
Where even tears have lost their way.
Yet in the depths of this darkness,
There lies a flicker of resilience,
A whispered promise of tomorrow,
A thread of light in the labyrinth's heart.
For in the struggle, there is strength,
In the brokenness, there is beauty,
And though the journey may be long,
There is always a path back to the light.
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