Symphony for a Shattered Mind

There is a silence that hums behind the eyes— not absence, but a sound too exhausted to scream. A hymn of hesitation, folded into routine, layered beneath the melody of normalcy.

Thoughts arrive out of tune, staggered like drunk instruments— Out of space, out of time— bowed too tight, strings frayed at the edge. The mind conducts but the players are missing, or worse: they play what they're told, not what's true.

In this orchestra of overthinking, regret is the percussion. Memory, the out-of-sync violin. Fear breathes heavy into every reed and hollow. The melody bends, not broken by chaos— but held hostage by it.

What is madness if not a truth unscored? What is silence but a symphony turned inward?

Ink drips from thought to thought, but the lines blur— no one reads between the lines. Claw marks scribble across the walls of cognition, each stroke a note never played aloud.

Still, the baton rises.

Still, the silence listens.

Still, something plays on...

A composition written in broken thoughts and buried truths, where every crescendo is a question and every pause a memory trying to forget itself.

And this— this isn't healing. This isn't peace. This is the Symphony for a Shattered Mind still echoing long after the stage is empty.