Echoes from poisoned tongues
slipped through the flimsy walls,
warping memory
into the taste of bitter screams.
Words that cut deeper
than sticks and stones
slithered
into the serpent of all hearts.
They seeped into veins,
twisting golden soul-light
into ink—
thick with guilt and shame.
Like shattered glass,
or the quake of grief,
they rumble through the body
until rain
becomes
a storm
of fluttering pain.
Down,
down,
down
—to the sea of broken wings.
You stare into the mirror,
chasing perfection's ghost—
longing to be the monarch
of every impossible expectation,
the throne worthy of love.
But the flames breathe closer
when you forget to inhale.
And these walls—
they rage.
They feast on the tears
of the one who dared to feel.
To be a nightingale—
singing through
the endless night
of melancholy
and forced delight.
𓆰𓆪
—Burning Behind the Mirror
______________________________________
YOU ARE READING
the words I kept
Poetry"𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱..." these are the feelings I carried with me, thoughts I held back, scars I hid, and all the words I kept; my friend and my foe. Warning: some may be triggering, dis...
