"THE RELIQUARY OF ASH"
You did not break the bone; you did not pierce the skin,
But found the hidden chamber where the spirit lay within.
You were the careful thief, who mapped the sacred vault,
And turned my open trust into a terrible fault.
The heart is not a muscle; it is a reliquary,
Where fragile vows are kept, and futures visionary.
You cracked the casing open, with a smile devoid of grace,
And left a chilling void where warmth had held its place.
My soul is now a ruin, where the bitter winds all blow,
A shattered stained-glass window that lets the moonlight show
The vacant space you carved out, with precision cold and slow.
You taught me fear and silence, things I never thought to know.
I walk the world half-formed, a shell where echoes dwell,
Haunted by the laughter that sounded like a spell.
The worst of all the darkness is not the pain I bear,
But the twisted, sickening knowledge that **you simply do not care.**
I mourn the man I was—a light you put out cold.
A story of pure darkness that can never be retold.
And the poison that you left is not beneath my tongue,
But woven in the silence when a hopeful song is sung.
D