Whispers like silent screams
around a decay that never ends
The walls remember what the air forgets,
ghosts of breath caught in the dust
and mirrors dream of faces long gone.
prayers that turned to ash mid-breath.
Time limps through the corridors,
dragging chains of memory and ruin.
peeling itself from the bones of the world.
Every shadow hums a name
no mouth can bear to speak.
Portraits weep behind their frames,
their eyes aflame with endless dusk
The air tastes of sorrow and dust,
The moon hangs like an open wound,
dripping silver into the cracks of stone,
while memories crawl through the dark,
their fingers made of rust and regret.
In the quiet, something stirs
not life, not death, but the echo between them,
a song too faint to hear,
too loud to ignore
perception fails where truth begins.
© Diana Mistera
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