In my heart, a reliquary, gather teeth that do not belong to me
In my heart, a reliquary, gather teeth that do not belong to me,
but are those of voices I swallowed out of politeness, unwillingly,
they echo in silence like relics of a gentler, forgotten violence,
and I polish them with guilt until they shine like silent confessions.
I tell myself there is beauty in this digestion of thoughts and emotions,
that consuming means transforming, changing essence into silence,
but every night, I wake with a mouth full of unbelieved prayers,
as if my soul seeks to speak unshared truths.
And yet, within this dance of shadows and unlived memories,
I struggle with the ghosts of those words that never belonged to me,
I am an alchemist of my own conscience, seeking to find gold,
in the ashes of promises I never understood, only swallowed.
I place these relics under the pale light of introspection, seeking healing,
but each rattle is a reminder of transformation through forced silence,
and I wonder if I will ever be able to release these captive words,
or if my heart will remain a reliquary of eternal melancholy.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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