Maybe Iâm just a broken shell,
a hollow vessel from some twisted spell.
A venom, creeping slow and deep,
a nightmare haunting every sleep.
I am the sickness you canât shake,
the wound that festers wide awake.
Iâm the weight around your neck,
the anchor pulling down the wreck.
Walls of stone with warmth inside,
Iâve built a fortress, cold with pride.
My heartâs in there, if itâs even whole,
lost in shadows, dark as coal.
And every hand that tries to save,
I pull it down into the grave.
For anyone who dares to climb,
Iâm just the loss, the wasted time.
So leave me here, this empty shell,
this poison that I wear so well.
For all I bring is hurt and shame,
the kind of ruin you canât tame.
Go save yourself from what I am,
a darkness dressed in human skin.
Turn from me, donât waste your light,
for Iâm the plague you cannot fight.