Forgotten Tomb (2)
Forgotten Tomb
Beneath the cracked stone where the moss creeps like fingers desperate to pull something back, the air tastes like dust and decay,
thick with the silence of words never spoken and screams that were swallowed long before the dirt settled.
The tomb wasn’t built to be remembered, just another pit carved out to keep the dead quiet,
but the ground here hums with something that doesn’t forget,
something that scratches at the coffin lid when the moon drags shadows across the broken walls,
as if death itself is restless, as if the bones beneath your feet still have something left to say.
The doorway gapes like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole,
and the steps leading down aren’t just stone,
they’re the spine of a place that knows what you’ve done,
each echo of your footfall bouncing off walls slick with the sweat of centuries,
telling you to turn the fuck around before you get too far to find your way back.
But you don’t stop,
since curiosity’s a disease that digs deeper than fear,
and down here, beneath layers of dirt and regret,
the air is heavy with the weight of things better left buried.
The walls close in,
lined with carvings you can’t read but feel deep in your gut,
symbols etched by hands that shook with the knowledge
that what they were sealing away wouldn’t stay that way forever.
The deeper you go,
the colder it gets—not the somewhat cold that pricks your skin,
but the kind that seeps into your bones,
turning your blood thick and slow,
like your body knows this isn’t a place for the living.
And when you reach the bottom,
when you stand in front of the tomb’s heart,
it hits you—
the realization that nothing in here is truly dead,
that the dust in your lungs might have been a breath once,
that the shadows slithering along the edges of your vision
aren’t tricks of the light,
but the remainss of something that’s been waiting.
You run your fingers across the cold stone,
feeling the grooves where names used to beat,
scraped away by time or by something that didn’t want them remembered,
since memory is a curse down here,
and the dead don’t like to be called by name.
The silence isn’t empty—it’s a fucking roar,
a pulse that vibrates beneath your skin,
reminding you that you don’t belong,
that the tomb didn’t forget what it holds,
and it sure as hell hasn’t forgiven.
And as you stand there,
heart pounding in time with the echoes of footsteps
that don’t belong to you,
you finally understand—
the tomb wasn’t forgotten.
It was waiting.
It starts where the light dies,
where the sky folds in on itself like a bruise spreading under the skin,
and the stars blink out one by one,
not with a bang,
but like they’re too tired to burn anymore.
The air hums low,
a vibration you don’t hear but feel in your teeth,
in the hollow behind your ribs,
where your heartbeat used to keep time
before the night stretched too long,
before the dark learned how to breathe.
It’s not silence—not really.
It’s the absence of everything that made sense,
a song with no melody,
just the steady pulse of nothing wrapping around your throat
until you can’t tell if you’re gasping for air
or just trying to scream.
The ground under your feet doesn’t feel solid,
it shifts like it’s breathing too,
pulling you deeper with each step,
dragging you down into places
you never wanted to go,
but can’t stop thinking about.
The night doesn’t ask for your permission.
It seeps in through the cracks,
floods your veins,
turns your thoughts inside out
until you can’t tell where you end and the dark begins.
And the song keeps playing—
not in your ears,
but in your bones,
in the tremble of your hands when you reach for something
that isn’t there,
never was,
never will beat.
It’s the chorus of every fear you’ve swallowed,
every regret you’ve buried,
rising up like a tide you can’t outrun,
drowning you in memories
that taste like ash and sound like the echo
of your own voice calling out
into a void that never answers.
Since the night is endless,
not just out there,
but in you,
a song on repeat,
fading in and out of the spaces
where the light used to live.
And you can cover your ears,
you can close your eyes,
but the song doesn’t need permission to play.
It’s already inside.