I kept dreaming…
Not the kind that gives you wings,
but the kind that leaves you gasping—
haunted, trembling,
drenched in doubt so deep
it gnaws through the bone.
Is this real?
Do I even deserve it?
The question carved into every second I breathed.
It didn't let me rest—
not by day,
not in the fragile quiet of night.
Every hour, it tore at me—
a silent scream within the marrow of my soul.itself
I couldn't believe it.
Someone like me?
Given a chance to rise from the filth?
No. That's not how this world works.
I once had dreams—
pure, bright, beautiful things.
They shimmered like distant stars—
A journey to escape this wretched, bleeding pit.
A place where I could forget the cold,
where someone's touch might feel like home.
A place where my heart
might remember what warmth meant.
But life is cruel.
Dreams don't just fade—
they rot.
They decay slowly,
until all that's left is the stench of what could've been.
And time?
Time is not a healer.
Time is a butcher.
With every tick,
my heart grew colder.
The world lost its colors.
The laughter turned to static.
The light dimmed,
and the shadows grew teeth.
I tried to run—
God, I tried.
But no matter how far I ran,
I was still trapped in this skin,
in this cursed heart.
There was no escape,
no door, no exit—
just a life that felt like a sentence
written in blood.
And so, I gave in.
I stopped resisting.
I let the darkness take me.
Now my hands—
they've gone numb.
They're soaked in a warmth
that doesn't comfort—
blood.
So much blood.
Too much to ever be forgiven.
I tried to tell myself:
Maybe I can change.
Maybe redemption is still possible.
But no.
That thought—
it's a lie dressed in hope's skin.
I've taken lives.
I've crushed souls.
These hands…
they've become weapons.
And with every soul I broke,
a part of me died too.
They used to call me cold hearted.
It was a phrase.
A throwaway insult.
But now…
it's who I am.
It's all that's left of me.
Cold Heart.
A name,
a curse,
a mirror that never lies.
The longer I live,
the more I crave death—
not for peace,
but for silence.
This life?
It's a prison of echoes,
each one whispering the things I've done.
And so I wait.
Time keeps moving.
And still, no answer comes.
The journey I once dreamed of—
the escape,
the redemption,
the light—
It was never meant for me.
I was never the hero.
Just the monster in the dark,
waiting for someone brave enough
to put me down.