Buried in Silence
I wear this mask like skin,
a lie stitched tight over worn bones.
No one sees the rot beneath—
the poisons I\'ve swallow alone.
There’s a weight I cannot name,
a shadow clawing at my throat.
Not grief, nor anger, nor pain—
but a darkness I cannot quote.
If I did the world would never be the same.
A secret tangled in stained glass,
where prayers fall like shattered glass that sparks fly.
A faith once pure, now cracked and worn,
a whispered doubt that haunts the night.
But people are unaware or they just don\'t care.
The altar’s flame burns cold inside,
a candle flickering in the storm.
Confession locked behind my lips,
a sacred vow I dare not scorn.
I love for the Lord but my heart is torn.
Almost all would not believe the real me,
the fractured soul beneath the guise.
I’m drowning in this holy rift,
where angels weep and silence screams.
The cross I bear is heavy still,
but no one knows what haunts my dreams.
I’m a ghost beneath the steeple’s gaze,
haunted by what I won’t reveal.
The silence is a brutal sin,
a wound no prayer can heal.
Confession is a distant dream,
a whisper lost in endless night.
So I carry this fractured scream,
alone, hidden out of sight.