Caged

The pillow that stifles my soul stinks of love, and whispers that hiding my [he]art away is not a sacrifice, not really.

I can speak silently, perform to nobody, paint with invisible ink, and express myself to a blank page… all in the name of love.

I poured out the wine gone sour because I love you, and hate the idea of you sipping from a poisoned chalice, but you caught every drip and stared at me with pained eyes when your flesh melted away.

So the wine sits and sours every time something comes up, and the drains are off limits from now on. Removing the cork doesn’t empty the bottle, merely lets the fumes waft over us and turns the air as bitter as the brew.

I made no promise so there’s nothing to break, except a fragile glass with ‘trust’ tentatively written on the label next to a piece that many cherish but forget. I’ll dust around the plinth it sits on and try not to knock it, but I was always clumsy and the glass wobbles alarmingly whenever I get too close.

You never asked me to stop doing, only to stop speaking. My soul is still there but the cage has come down and the silence is terrifying.

Rachel Gleavy