Inspired by Psalm 55:4-8

My heart writhes within me,
a bird trapped behind broken ribs,
beating, beating—
yet never flying free.

Fear drapes its cold breath over my shoulders,
a cloak I never asked to wear.
Trembling fills my bones like frost,
and horror sets its camp within my chest.

Oh, that I had wings like a mourning dove—
I would leave these smoking ruins behind,
flee to a wilderness no map dares name,
and vanish into the ash-gray hush.

I would find shelter in the hollow of old trees,
nest in the marrow of mountains,
hide my weary soul in a thorn-thick thicket,
where no voice could find me.

But here I am—
the Hollowed One,
half-flesh, half-fear,
drifting down corridors of my own longing.

Each breath a prayer,
each footfall an unanswered question,
each heartbeat an echo asking:
Where is my place of peace?