A shaky hand etched it in black marker—

A shaky hand etched it in black marker—

"You’re not as alone as you think."

Faded smudges blur the edges,

like breaths caught on cracked paint.

The stall door leans with a tired creak,

a silent witness to whispered confessions.

The words linger just out of reach,

a fragile promise scrawled in desperate script,

as if hoping to stick, despite the dirt

and the passing graffiti of careless nights.