Beneath the clock’s unyielding face,
I count the minutes I erase.
A whisper curls around the light—
the echo of a vanished night.
The stars pretend they do not see
the way the dark unravels me.
I wear a smile, thin and precise,
a frozen mask of thawless ice.
The wind forgets to say my name,
yet touches all I cannot tame.
A leaf departs without goodbye—
just like the truth we learn to lie.
I plant my hopes in barren ground,
where dreams don’t speak and roots aren’t found.
Still, silence hums beneath my skin—
a place where poems might begin.
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