I keep myself burning and let bark drift away.
I stay warm in silence.
What once protected me can drift.
The fire within me does not scream;
it hums softly, under silver light.
I built fast once.
I learned to shape joy, to send it out on schedule, to wrap it in color and rhythm.
That rhythm taught me how things move — but not why they move.

I keep the warmth, not the hustle.
The spark that started there belongs to me now.

I keep myself burning,
and let Bark drift away.
the moon listens back when I’m honest enough to hear it