Memories Trapped Below

The floorboard groans
and the past groans with it.

Betrayals buried underneath,
sins pressed into the grain of the wood
like stains that won’t sand out.

Every creak tells a story—
lust, rage, something worse,
secrets locked in a rotting cage
that shifts with the weight
of anyone who walks above.

The wood moans like a lover.
Like a confession.
Like something that wants
to be heard
but knows it shouldn’t.

Tiptoe lightly.
The past whispers louder
with every step,
and some things
are best left below.