Catacomb

Catacomb

​The clock keeps ticking,

like a heartbeat in the floorboards.

Every second

a cold reminder

of what I missed,

what I rushed,

the ghosts I should’ve held longer.

My heart freezes

a stone in a shallow grave

and my mind does what it always does:

it runs the tape.

Over.

And over.

Every word I shouldn’t have whispered.

Every silence I mistook for sanctuary.

Regret

that’s the deepest catacomb.

Not because it’s empty,

but because you keep trying

to fill the coffins

with versions of yourself

already turned to ash.

I replay moments

that pace the hallways of my head.

I question choices

made as a fledgling,

back when I thought the sun was endless.

I look for peace in the ruins,

for truth where the light won’t reach.

Mostly,

I look for a way

to stop being my own executioner.

And maybe that’s where the light breaks through.

Maybe forgiveness

isn’t an exorcism

it’s letting yourself breathe

in the wreckage you survived.

So I forgive this ghost.

For my heart.

For my fractured mind.

For doing the best I could

with the candlelight I had.

There’s no space left

for poison.

No hunger left

to feed the ravens.

The past is a phantom.

The war is won.

Some things

even the dead can’t change.

So loosen your grip on the shroud.

Forgive the old wounds.

Remind your brain

this life is a fever dream

dark, but brief.

And look at you.

Still here.

Still haunting the living.

Still loving

after all the scars,

after all the midnight fights.

Love your people.

Hold them close before they vanish.

Because when the clock finally quiets,

when the pendulum stops

that’s the thing.

That’s the only thing

that ever haunted us right.