Lost in a sea of clichés
drifting on phrases worn thin,
where every “it’ll be okay”
feels like a stone tied to my skin.

I reach for new words, but they fade,
in the echo of thoughts unsaid,
as if every thought I’ve portrayed
is a line I’ve borrowed instead.

Caught in a net of clichés,
waves rise and swallow my voice,
caught in a current that plays
the same tunes, feeling no choice.

I search for words which speak my mind,
for echoes of my soul untold.
But in each familiar rhyme, I find
only borrowed hopes, a hollow hold.

Drowning in words like “hold on,”
tossed in tides of “time will mend,”
I drift, and long for a bright dawn
where meaning begins, but not ends.

Every “you got this” feels so thin,
a phrase now worn down to bone.
A whisper too soft to sink in,
echoing things I do not own.

But still I reach despite the roar.
A spark, a breath, a thought begins.
A moment cracks on first light’s shore.
Beneath the waves where silence spins.

Tendrils of words faintly tease,
through fleeting wisps of bleak smoke.
I chase them, but all I seize
are ashes I can not stoke.

Let my silence be enough.
No scripts, no borrowed lines.
Just a space without the fluff.
Where words of my own shine.