Silent Invaders

They creep in when the world is quiet,

slipping through cracks no eye can see.

They do not shout.

They do not warn.

They sit behind my temples,

curling their fingers around memory,

twisting hope into shadows,

turning every soft thought into a blade.

Even laughter trembles under their weight.

Even sleep is a cage.

They whisper names I dare not say,

reveal fears I thought forgotten,

and mark the moments I stumble

as if to remind me

I am never alone.

The walls of my mind shrink.

Air grows thick.

Every breath is a struggle

against their patient hunger.

They do not tire.

They do not rest.

They wait,

always waiting,

until I cannot tell

where I end

and they begin.

I move with caution,

hands out, eyes open,

yet they seep into corners,

pressing at the edges of my thoughts

like dark roots growing unseen.

Even in daylight,

their shadows linger.

Even in stillness,

I feel their weight.

And still, I carry them.

I bend beneath them.

I pretend the knife in my chest

is not theirs to hold,

even as they gnaw

at the marrow of who I am.