Even the Truest Words Begin to Rot

Rastinews — The word abandonment settled into my chest.

Abandonment is cold.

A restlessness inside me tightens around my throat.
My chest closes; breathing turns into a struggle.

This tightness lodges in my body like a weight I cannot name.

Abandonment is cold. It cuts to the bone, freezes the body through.

The soul tries to escape the skin but cannot.

It is more than a chill. It is heavy. It burns. It eats away like helplessness.

Your voice reaches no one,
and this feeling, heavy and cold and burning, merges with abandonment and grows into a weight.

Time does not move, the body resists, the mind closes in.
And only one truth remains: I CANNOT CARRY THIS…

The words fade one by one.

Sentences that once carried meaning now pierce my heart like rusted nails.

What I once called "telling" now turns into being misunderstood…

The truth now stands before us, naked
so plainly true that no one can dress it up.

Telling a lie to the truth is like embracing a shadow; the tighter you hold it, the faster it slips from your hands.

Rotten words carry the weight of silence, but sometimes leave a sharper pain;
losing a word means a memory collapsing in on itself.

And still, despite the smell of mould on old words, we keep searching our tongue for hope.

The truth stands naked.
But looking and seeing are not the same.

Looking is a habit of the eye;
seeing takes courage.
Because once you see, you can no longer look away.
The moment you see, responsibility begins.

Today the truth stands before everyone
yet everyone finds a way to turn their back on it.

Some mistake silence for wisdom,
some call fear caution,
some sell their muteness as "balance."

But truth does not stay balanced.
Truth either wounds or heals.
And most of the time, it wounds first.

That is where our abandonment comes from.
Not from being left alone,
but from being seen and still not heard…

In a world where what is said leaves no record,
where pain turns into statistics,
people begin to doubt.

Because a person feels coldest when betrayal cuts deepest…

And that is exactly where the inner unravelling begins.
A person grows a stranger even to themselves.
"Am I exaggerating?" they ask,
"Is it really this heavy?"
Then they grow ashamed of what they feel.
They shrink their pain and swell their silence.

The more I saw the truth, the heavier
the cold of it became, I realised.
I took refuge in words…

And then words rot too.
Even the truest word begins to grow mould with time.

A person begins to lower even their own inner voice.
They think it is self-protection,
but it is really a slow disappearing.

And yet something in me still resists.
Something I cannot name,
something that does not speak loudly
but never falls entirely silent either.
Maybe it is not hope,
just a reflex not to surrender.

I do not know.

The only thing I know is this:

And if, in spite of all this weight,
I still do not deny what I feel,
if I still turn back to words,
then it means I am trying to carve
a path toward myself
out of this abandonment.

Slowly.
Quietly.
But without giving up…