A Heartbeat Of Emotion. Poem by brock woodward

'Built from Rain'

I wake beneath a skyless gray,
Where time repeats, then fades away.
Each morning breaks like shattered glass—
Another day I cannot pass.

A fog resides inside my chest,
A storm that never grants me rest.
I breathe, but air won't meet my lungs,
Just silence where my hope once hung.

I'm hollow—more than simply bare,
An empty house with vacant air.
They took the light, they took the flame,
And left a shadow with my name.

This pain's no longer sharp or loud,
It's quiet now, but still so proud.
It hums beneath my fragile skin,
A war I fight and never win.

Some days I'm glass—so thin, so weak,
A single word could make me break.
Some days I'm stone, so cold, so still,
Too numb to cry, too tired to feel.

Loneliness wraps like winter's breath,
A second skin, a living death.
A ghost among the ones I knew,
I speak, but none can hear me through.

And what is joy? I've long forgot—
A distant star, a fading thought.
This sorrow's stitched into my seams,
A quiet thief that steals my dreams.

I'm tired in a way that sleep
Can't touch, can't fix, can't even keep.
A kind of tired buried deep,
Where even angels fear to weep.

But still I try, I play the part,
With trembling hands and splintered heart.
Though no one sees the drowning man—
Some storms don't break.
Some never can.

So if I'm lost, just know this pain
Was never choice, nor made in vain.
Some souls are born beneath the strain,
Not made from light—
But built from rain.