Carrion Silence
You never returned, only circled, as though drawn by some cruel, invisible tether to the wreckage of what we once were but never could be again. Your presence presses against my chest like a wound still open, unhealed, as if time is capable of mending when it only ever buries. What do you seek, in the ruins of us? A scrap of what was pure before it all turned to rust, before love twisted into something we couldn’t name anymore? Don’t tell me it's closure— I saw your hands pull the earth over the body of what we had, and now you only dig to see if it still breathes. Every glance you throw me is a reminder of something rotted, but still too stubborn to decay, like a corpse refusing to lie down, its limbs twitching beneath the weight of time. Your name feels like an anchor pulled too tightly across my ribs— a bruise that won't fade, a shape carved into the skin of memory with no intention to heal. This is not a graveyard— it’s the ruin of what was once a sanctuary, a temple desecr...