Grey Morning

I don’t want to wake to the weight of the sun,
Not when it lights a world I cannot run.
Each morning a battlefield, silent and grim,
Where the war is myself, and the chances are slim.

I rise not with purpose, but out of decay,
Dragged by the clock through another dead day.
No glory, no gain, no dream to defend
Just ticking and typing and waiting to end.

My limbs move like shadows, my breath is a chore,
My smile’s an echo of one I wore before.
The hunger that feeds me is not even mine
Just reflex, just habit, a biological line.

I live like a program, a body on loop,
A ghost in a shell in an office troop.
There’s no spark, no thrill, no wild urge to shout,
Only tasks I despise that I can't live without.

I used to dream once, I think, though it fades,
Like sun through a curtain that never quite sways.
Joy feels like fiction, and hope like a lie,
In the blur of long days and the silence at night.

But if you’re out there, and you feel this too
Let this be a mirror, not just a view.
You're not alone in this silent despair,
Even when it feels like there's nobody there.

And though I won’t promise a reason or cure,
I will say: surviving is still something pure.
Sometimes all you can do is stay,
And that's enough to get through one more day.