Another sleepless night poem

I can’t hold the weight of what’s in my chest—
it’s loud, it’s raw, it never lets rest.
Tears are a language that never quite speaks,
so I search for silence in crimson streaks.

Let the blade whisper what words cannot,
a scream in silver, clean and hot.
Because this ache behind my ribs
is worse than anything the steel ever gives.

Better a sting I can see and trace
than drowning unseen in my own disgrace.