Existing Without Witness

It’s getting bad again.
Heavy—
like the air has learned my name
and decided to sit on my chest.

The urge to disappear
itches beneath my skin.
The urge to numb everything,
to quiet the screaming inside my head,
to become anything
except this.

The thoughts are loud.
They don’t knock.
They break in.

Despair comes all at once—
an explosion with no sound,
just debris where hope used to be.
Worthlessness seeps in slow,
settling deep,
like it plans to stay.

Tonight my entire heart
walked out the front door.
Winter break.
Their father.
And suddenly my heart is barely beating,
like it forgot why it should try.

They were the reason I smiled.
The reason I performed strength.
I kept the darkness hidden,
made sure they never saw
how bad the bad days get.

Now they’re gone.
The mask slips.
There’s no audience left to save.

I collapse under the weight
I’ve been carrying in silence.
It’s heavy.
It’s loud.
It’s familiar.

It’s me again—
stripped down to the lie
that whispers I am nothing,
that I was only ever useful
when someone needed me to pretend.