They feed on silence, lace every word with doubt, small, fragile, breakable feelings stir. And it is believed. The darkness seeps beneath the surface, the weight of their fear masquerading as love. It happens again. The pretty ones. Hollow inside. Poison dressed in charm. You fall for it. Still You Rise. Your core stays steady. They want silence so the truth never surfaces and fear keeps its grip. You were never weak. You were only waiting to remember. Let their control slip through fingers that never truly held you.
They shrink what threatens to expose how little they actually hold…
© 2026 Thomas Köppen. All Rights Reserved