It grows quietly, like roots beneath the soil,
hidden from sight,twisting deeper with time,
feeding on doubts,on whispers left unchecked,
drawing strength from shadows
where light dares not linger.

Thoughts once clear now clouded,
murky waters stirred by fear,
resentments coiled tight,
venom dripping slow,unnoticed
until it stains everything it touches.

It speaks in echoes,
not with a roar but a steady pulse,
a rhythm of what-ifs and never-weres,
of faces twisted by imagined slights,
of truths bent until they fracture.

The world becomes a mirror,
every reflection a distortion,
every kindness questioned,
every silence filled with noise
only the poisoned mind can hear.

There is no enemy outside,
only within-
a quiet architect of ruin,
building walls,burning bridges,
leaving nothing but the hollow sound
of its own bitter song.