Whispers of the Night

I sit in my bed, waiting,
As nighttime calls my name.
I no longer know what to do,
I no longer know what to say.

Tears blur my vision,
A blade trembling in my grasp,
Etching verses upon my wrist—

My story writes itself anew,
Like poetry carved in skin—
A hushed lament,
A whispered ache.
A nightmare in the make.

My arms conceal unspoken truths,
My smile shields silent pain.
My eyes hollow.
My voice muted.
For night calls my name.