I’ve been holding on to the cracks,
Never bothered about my bleeding hands.
Trying to stitch every single split,
I’ve woven a web full of unheard myths.
How I’d be, if you feel the way I do,
It’d be broken and struggling, too.
Not a problem you can solve,
Just a hint, if any at all.
Peeping through my kind,
To a sight out of spite.
I did all I could be true,
but this is who I turned into.