By Shrishti Khanna
A shell she's forming, hollow and tight,
A facade of strength, a deceptive light.
She smiles and nods, a practiced art,
Concealing the fractures deep in her heart.
I'm fine, she whispers, a mantra so worn,
But the echo is fading, the spirit forlorn.
Doubt gnaws at her, a venomous seed,
Planting whispers of weakness, a desperate need.
Depression lingers, a shadow unseen,
A heavy cloak, a suffocating spleen.
I'm good enough, she repeats, a plea so frail,
But the words lose their meaning, a sorrowful tale.
The hollowness deepens, a chasm so wide,
Overthinking consumes, nowhere to hide.
I'm okay, she insists, but the truth lies concealed,
A fragile facade, a wound deeply healed.
Lost in the labyrinth, searching for grace,
A beacon of hope, a comforting space.
Where truth can be spoken, the burden released,
And the shattered spirit, finally appeased.