misery sits in my bones like winter

It’s not loud.  
It’s not dramatic.  
It’s just cold—  
a slow, creeping frost  
that settles into the places  
I can’t warm with blankets or sunlight.  

I go through the motions, 
smiling like my face remembers how, 
talking like my voice isn’t cracking  
under the weight of everything  
I don’t say.  

But inside, 
it feels like I’m walking through snow  
up to my ribs, 
every step heavier  
than the one before.  

And no one sees it.  
No one ever sees it.  
They just comment on how quiet I’ve become  
like silence isn’t a symptom.  

-𝕃ℝ 🖤

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