I hate the way I pander,
Leaving myself to rot.
I hate the way I feel the need
To shrink to stay alive.
This is part of the story
Called dying inside.
All I want to do is live.
There are scratched in
Claw marks on the inside
Of me where I refused to
Be anything but free,
In my heart.
I can see it,
The whole world laid out anew,
The same one, but fresh
With the dew of new faith
Built on the hope that
Seemed futile and still came true.
-Eryn Sheehan
Saturday, January 24, 2026
9:02 PM
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