Locks and Chains
Locks fall like secrets across the floor,
chins lift to shadows that do not speak.
The air tastes of iron and whispered truths,
your eyes find the cracks where nothing bends.
Dark folds in corners of a grin,
hands clutch the echo of a half-breath.
Words drip slow like candle smoke,
and the room holds its own pulse.
Every glance is a small rebellion,
every sigh a confession of hunger.
The night leans in with sharp fingers,
tracing the lines that time forgot.
Footsteps wait behind walls that listen,
hearts beat like drums in hollow rooms.
Lips curve with promises they will not keep,
and silence grows heavy between them.
A knock at the glass, a shadow retreats.
The mirror shivers with someone else’s face.
Locks and chins in a slow collision,
the dark swallows the shape of you.
Nothing leaves except the weight of wanting,
nothing stays except the pull of memory.
A hand reaches, but finds only air,
and the dark smiles back.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
This is quite the psychological poem. Good work.