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There are wounds that time cannot touch, griefs that do not fade, and sorrows so vast they eclipse the soul. Some pain does not arrive like a tempest that rages and passes; it settles, it seeps, it stains. It does not visit; it inhabits. It becomes the breath, the marrow, the pulse that keeps time with suffering.

To wake is to ache. To breathe is to bleed. To exist is to endure.

What does one do when agony is not an affliction but an identity? When the self is not merely haunted by sorrow but built from it? When lifetimes have been spent in quiet ruin, and yet the end remains an illusion?

This is not just a lament. It is the echo of a thousand silent screams, the requiem of a heart too shattered to beat, the mourning song of a soul that has drowned in its own sorrow; yet never been granted the mercy of sinking.

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A shadow lingers where light should be,
A wound that time will not set free.
It does not fade, it does not mend,
It knows no mercy, it knows no end.

I wear my sorrow like a second skin,
A prison built from walls within.
It whispers my name, it owns my breath,
A dirge that binds me close to death.

The days stretch long, the nights run deep,
Yet never comes the gift of sleep.
For even in dreams, it calls me near,
A voice of grief I cannot unhear.

How many lives have I endured?
How many deaths has fate ensured?
Each one a blade that carves anew,
Yet leaves me breathing, bleeding through.

Time does not heal, nor does it erase,
It only deepens what it cannot replace.
I am a book with unwritten ends,
Torn at the seams where memory bends.

The stars have wept, the winds have sighed,
The earth has groaned where my ghosts reside.
Yet even the heavens, vast and wise,
Cannot answer my screaming skies.

I walk this road with no retreat,
A journey traced in phantom feet.
And though I burn, though I decay,
This grief is mine—it will not stray.

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Some wounds do not beg to be healed; they demand only to be endured. Some sorrows do not seek escape; they settle like dust in the bones, like echoes in the wind. To suffer is to exist, and to exist is to bear witness to pain as old as time itself.

Perhaps the only absolution is in surrender,
not to hope,
not to healing,
but to the quiet understanding that some agony was never meant to leave.

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AND A SONG FOLLOWS……

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Eclipsed by Sorrow (A Song of Endless Agony)

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A shadow lingers where light should be,
A wound that time won’t set free.
It doesn’t fade, it doesn’t mend,
It knows no mercy, it knows no end.

And I scream, but silence calls,
Like a ghost behind these walls.
Every echo, every breath,
Pulls me closer to my death.

I’m lost inside a hollow dream,
A prison built from silent screams.
No escape, no saving grace,
Just sorrow carved into my face.
Oh, I walk, I crawl, I break, I bend,
But this pain—it never ends.

The nights run deep, the days stretch long,
And I can’t tell where I belong.
Time moves forward, but I stay still,
Trapped inside a fate I can’t kill.

And I fall, but there’s no ground,
Only echoes pulling me down.
Every whisper, every tear,
Just reminds me why I’m here.

I’m lost inside a hollow dream,
A prison built from silent screams.
No escape, no saving grace,
Just sorrow carved into my face.
Oh, I walk, I crawl, I break, I bend,
But this pain—it never ends.

Oh, the stars have wept, the winds have sighed,
The earth has groaned where my ghosts reside.
Yet even heaven, vast and wise,
Turns away from my screaming skies.

I’m lost inside a hollow dream,
A prison built from silent screams.
No escape, no saving grace,
Just sorrow carved into my face.
Oh, I walk, I crawl, I break, I bend,
But this pain—it never ends.

Some wounds don’t heal, they only stay,
Some ghosts don’t leave, they just fade away.
And if I must, I’ll bear this weight,
For some agony… was never meant to fade.

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