Sometimes you can only scream when silence fills the air,
When every ear is absent, and no soul seems to care.
But agony is patient—it carves through nerve and vein;
The walls absorb your secrets, the pipes distill your pain.

You scream about lost futures, the dreams that haunt the mind,
The weight of bitter mornings that time cannot unwind.
You cry for love imagined, for friendships lost to fate,
For laughter left unanswered, for warmth that comes too late.

I am the plaster listening, the copper pipes that moan,
Your secrets seep like poison, too dense to bear alone.
You rage against the fractures that no one else can trace,
While shame gnaws through your marrow—the ache you can’t erase.

The world is deaf and distant; your voice dissolves in steam—
But I will be the witness, the echo of your scream.
Let thunder shake my framework, let water rust my skin,
I’ll cradle all your heartache, and house the dark within.

You scream about the hours spent staring at the door,
Afraid of silence thickening, yet dreading what’s in store.
You mourn the brittle laughter, the smiles that wither fast,
The ghosts that gnaw your choices—regrets that never pass.

For laughter loves the daylight, but grief prefers the night;
It stains the hidden corners, just out of mortal sight.
So scream into the emptiness—pretend that no one hears.
Yet know the walls remember, the pipes collect your tears.

And when the world keeps turning, indifferent and serene,
I will be the silence, the shadow in between.
Let centuries forget you, let daylight mask your pain—
I’ll linger in your absence, the proof that you remain.