There exists a chasm within each of us, shrouded in the mystery of our personal pain. It echoes with the howls of our hidden agonies, a deep, dark well that whispers secrets only to those who have dared to plummet into its cold embrace. The surface may gleam with the deceptive sheen of comprehensible hurt, a façade that invites shallow sympathies. Yet, until one stumbles, trips, and cascades into its unknown depths, they will never grasp the true measure of its profundity. They remain blind to the cataclysmic fall, deaf to the echoes that bounce off the unseen depths. This abyss, it seems, speaks a language only understood by those brave, or perhaps unfortunate enough to descend into its unfathomable darkness. And so, until you have tasted the bitter chill of such a fall, until your soul has collided with the painful truths that dwell in the depths, you can never truly claim to understand the magnitude of another's hurt.
In the echo of a sigh, they say they understand,
claim to read my pain, as if an open book, so bland.
But within my chest, beats a different kind of tale,
a story penned in shadows, a narrative so pale.
My hurt is not a surface wound, visible, neat, and clean,
it's a deep and darkened well, its bottom yet unseen.
Yes, you see the ripples, the teardrops on my face,
but the depths of my despair, that's a different kind of place.
You've not heard the silence, so cold, so hauntingly profound,
you've not touched the darkness, where my trembling heart is bound.
Until you've dived into my depths, shivering, alone, and scared,
you cannot fathom the weight of the pain that I have bared.
So, look into my eyes, can you see the unending fall?
Do you hear the silent cries echoing within my soul's hall?
Until you've fallen, as I have, into the night of no reprieve,
you'll never truly comprehend the hurt that makes me grieve.