She stands where streetlights flicker thin, Where night lets quieter horrors in, A silhouette in fractured weeks The girl who never, ever speaks. No name to trace, no past to claim, No whispered proof she ever came, Just echoes pressed in concrete creaks, And eyes that watch but never speak. They say she walks where shadows feed, Where broken boys and ghosts all bleed, Where powder lines and promises Are traded cheap for emptiness. I’ve seen her near the underpass, Where time forgets the ones who pass, Where hunger hums in hollowed cheeks She watches still, but never speaks. She knows the rituals of decay, The quiet ways we slip away, The shaking hands, the sleepless weeks, The prayers that rot before they reach. She’s in the mirror, just behind, A second face you’ll never find, A blur that shifts, distorts, then leaks A truth too sharp for tongues to speak. And some say she was once like us, With fragile bones and borrowed trust, Until the world carved out her voice And silence wasn’t just a choice. Now every scream we never screamed, Every wound we left uncleaned, Lives in her lungs, but never breaks A breath she holds, a voice she takes. So when the night feels far too deep, And something stirs that isn’t sleep, When memory claws and terror peaks You’ll feel her there. She never speaks.