We built an altar in the space between us
But the gods we prayed to never heard a thing
Now the incense is just ash on the floor
And the hymns we sang don't mean anything anymore
We carved our names into the pews
But the wood would rotted, and so did the truth
I memorized the shape of your absence
Traced it on the inside of my wrist
It's a bruise that never fades to yellow
A wound that doesn't exist
I kissed the air where you used to breathe
Now I'm choking on the space you leave
We are the cracks in the stained glass
Letting the darkness leak through
We are the silence after the mass
Still singing songs for a ghost of you
Still singing songs for a ghost of you
Stained glass...
Ghost of you...
I'm still singing...
The ghost
© Copyright: Валентин Владимиров, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126032506422
Свидетельство о публикации №126032506422
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