The Hands that held the Sky

Beauty needs no Description ​I built a fortress out of quiet sighs, A heavy armor stitched from compromise. I let the quiet swallow up my name, And taught my tongue to bleed instead of flame. The floorboards splinter under sudden tides, Even the shadows have nowhere to hide. ​And I am sinking in the undertow, Drowning the tears I swore I’d never show. Let the water rise, let the water break, And wash away the ghost I had to make. I am soft, I am cracked, I am bare, A fragile pulse shivering in heavy air. ​The hands that held the sky begin to shake, Just one more whispered threat and bones will break. I trace the cold geography of skin, Counting the graves of wars I couldn't win. It takes a brutal grace to lay it down, To stop the fighting... and just let me drown. ​The quiet doesn't heal, it just stops screaming. I breathe in salt and sediment, learning how to exist without a wall. ​No armor left to wear. No lie left to keep me whole. ​Just the cold, still water, and the sound of something real learning how to beat again. No more stone. No more shield. This is the holy place where I yield. Let the current tear the vault apart, And drown the iron... to save the heart. ​Let the water flood. Let the ruin stand. I am breaking. I am found.