A Blade’s Whisper

I swore to the stars, their distant, soft glow,
To the moon that cradled my chaos below,
No more would I carve my pain into skin,
No more would I let the darkness win.

I wore my vow like armor, steel-tight,
Each day a battle, each night a fight.
The scars, they faded, faint echoes of screams,
I thought I was free, mending at the seams.

But then came a night, cruel and unkind,
With shadows that whispered, invading my mind.
No warning, no mercy, just a surge of despair,
An emptiness vast, too heavy to bear.

I sat with the silence, it taunted, it teased,
A gnawing ache that refused to be eased.
My hands shook as I reached for the blade,
A fragile truce with myself betrayed.

It wasn’t the blood, or the sting, or the mark,
But the desperate need to ignite the dark.
To feel something real, though fleeting, though small,
When the void screamed louder than I could call.

The tears burned my cheeks; I knew I had failed,
My fortress of will had been utterly derailed.
Yet beneath the defeat, a faint ember remained,
A whisper: You’ve fought before through the pain.

I bandaged the wound, both body and soul,
Gathered the pieces to once more feel whole.
The battle’s not over; it never will be,
But in the ashes, there’s still hope for me.

For promises broken can be remade,
And healing’s a journey that’s never betrayed.
So I rise, though weary, though scarred, though torn,
For even the night must surrender to dawn.