Shadows press against my ribs.
Aching,
heavy as unanswered prayers,
whispering the language of blame,
a dialect of secrets
and broken promises
my soul cannot unhear. 

Even the air is a traitor,
thick with ghosts
of splintered vows. A
room crowded with silence
screams loudest in the absence of
forgiveness.

I held your words in trembling hands,
cradling it as though it could bloom
into a salve for the wounds you left.
But words decay;
sinking into flesh like rusted nails.

I rise- a ruin kissed by fire,
my edges sharp as discarded truths.
The ashes settle
and I wear it like war-paint,
no longer a slave
to the shards you
buried beneath my skin.

The ache makes me whole.
Jagged pieces complete me.
This rift within
is where I build my home.