The Creature Beneath My Calm

The Creature Beneath My Calm

by — Obsidian Words

All I seem to breathe now is static—

a low hum of anger that never quite fades.

It grows quietly, like mold in shadow,

thriving in silence,

feeding on every unspoken slight.

I wear restraint like a fraying mask,

a brittle disguise that fools no one

for long.

When the seams split,

it spills out—

not fire, not fury,

but something colder,

something that grins

as it breaks what it touches.

I have built walls inside myself

to cage it,

but even stone remembers

the tremor of what it holds.

Some nights I hear it pacing,

a heartbeat too loud

for one body to contain.

And I wonder—

when I return to the world,

smiling, composed,

how many will see

the red reflection

still flickering behind my eyes?