When one goes silent

When one falls silent,

it is not the hush of healing,

but the sound of something within

splintering without witness.

The choices were made

long before speech gave way—

sealed in the marrow,

bound beneath the tongue,

buried alive beneath a face

that learned too well

the art of appearing unbroken.

There is a silence

that does not soothe;

it devours.

It leaves the room colder,

the name less certain,

the soul standing at the threshold

of its own vanishing.

And what remains

is not indecision,

but the terrible clarity

of a heart that has already

chosen its ruin

and mistaken it for peace.