Cracks in my character, like veins in old marble,
showing where the pressure got too much.
I smile like nothing’s wrong,
but the lines run deep,
and every kind word chips away a little more.
And the chips crumble, fall to the ground,
turned to dust in the slightest wind.
They scatter, forgotten, while I stand,
still smiling, still cracked,
wondering how much of me is left.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 18th, 2026 16:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
A poem of deterioration and entropy that consumes us all. Well written William
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