I wake to the same ceiling
the same cracks that learned my name
they watch me breathe
like I’m a secret that overstayed its welcome
the mirror is cruel in its honesty
it shows a face that looks like mine
but the eyes
they flicker like a dying bulb
refusing to admit the end
I talk to shadows now
they answer softer than people do
they don’t ask why I’m quiet
they already know
my heart beats like it’s trapped
between here and somewhere quieter
somewhere the noise can’t reach
somewhere even I can’t
and if I fade
I hope it’s slow
like ink sinking through paper
a quiet unmaking
that no one notices until it’s gone
-
Author:
R.W (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 28th, 2025 08:40
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Paul Bell
Offline)
Comments3
Excellent way to reflect, meditate. Good job!
A beautiful expression of either meditation or death that are close to the same in that in meditation all around one dies. Lovely and a fave
Death is a mere crack in the ceiling, waiting to be fixed, but not really waiting.
I died and no one noticed.
A fitting epitaph.
Great write.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.