I stood there, whole — Or so I thought. Polished edges, A perfect shell, But silence whispered cracks I could not see.

Fragments of me drifted away, Shards of who I used to be. Neon memories, Cyan fears, Magenta dreams And orange tears. All floating, glowing, Like echoes in the dark.

Am I what's left? Or what I’ve lost? Every piece a story, Every crack a cost.

We wear ourselves in layers thin, Peeling back truths from deep within. And as we break, We learn to grow — The pieces scatter, But we glow.

So here I stand, Not whole, not done. An echo of me, Yet still, I’m one.