There are secrets sewn into the skin.

Threads pulled tight where silence begins.

They live in corners, dark and small.

In places we hide them, behind the wall.

In the quiet they fester, in silence they grow.

Unseen, unknown, but they always know.

They are the weight in the hollow of the chest.

They burn in the throat, the ache in the breast.

Untold, unspoken, they lie and they wait.

And we carry them softly, as we bear our fate.

But one day, like dawn breaking through the dark.

They will find their voice, leave their mark.

And the secrets we buried, deep in the ground.

Will rise like a storm, and finally be found.