They say I’m dead on arrival,
a shadow before the breath,
a body that never mattered,
a name erased at the door.
But I walk in anyway,
carrying silence like fire,
their verdict cannot bind me,
their words cannot bury me.
Dead on arrival?
No — I arrive with scars,
with lungs of smoke,
with eyes that still burn.
If this is death,
then death has not won.