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Rapportera problem med översättningen
a whispering wound in the fabric of now,
where the air is thick with forgotten echoes,
where the sky folds inward like an unspoken apology.
I once ran barefoot through the marrow of youth,
chasing laughter that never learned to die.
Now my feet drag through tar-thick time,
each moment clawing at my ribs,
each breath a debt I cannot pay.
The road ahead is a jawbone of shadows,
teeth bared, waiting—
a predator patient enough to let me walk
just far enough to believe in escape.
Anxiety perches on my spine like a crow,
picking apart the sinew of my resolve,
turning the past to a hunger I cannot feed,
turning the future to a throat-tight blur.
Somewhere behind me, the good days still hum,
a song muffled by distance,
a melody I cannot mouth anymore.
But forward—
forward is where the bruises bloom.
And still, I walk.
Fake words woven in a friendly seam.
A laugh, a nod, a fleeting jest,
All masks they wear—none pass the test.
I tried to stand where all could see,
To please the crowd, to just be me.
But shadows shifted, whispers fell,
Their silence struck, a quiet hell.
One by one, they fade, erase,
Ghosts in the hollow of my space.
No goodbyes, no honest cuts,
Just endless bleeding papercuts.
The lesson stings but leaves its trace,
Not all smiles are meant to embrace.
So now I walk, a wanderer’s tread,
Where fake ties die, and truth is fed.
Dreams now distant, like far-off lands.
A jaded heart, its fire dim,
Projects consume what’s left within.
Emotions fade, a fleeting spark,
Dissociation paints the dark.
Connections form, yet hollow rings,
A past that shadows every spring.
Life on autopilot, eyes half-shut,
Enduring a thousand silent cuts.
A stoic mask, the face I wear,
The future looms—I’m halfway there.
No love to claim, no wounds to mend,
Just chasing goals that never end.
In this routine, I carve my space,
A fading trace in time’s embrace.