Shafqatshabir

I was not always claws— once, I laughed sunlight, touched gentle things. Now, I drift in torn places, my name unspoken, my face a child’s terror. I only wanted warmth— now, all who see me turn away, leaving only echoes to keep me company. I haunt not out of hatred, but because I am forgotten.

When death is not an option, and the world grows cold with silence, where do I find myself in the emptiness that life forgot? and when the final door stays closed, where do I wander within the room of my own becoming? Death no longer is a doorway for me just a never changing shadow , and life, a hollow burden, boring in its cruel repetition. It is just wandering between The space of sky and earth…