My little secret

The language of crows (Marcella Boccia) They gather where the twilight fades, black scribes upon the weary sky, their voices stitched in broken shades, a riddle sung, a last goodbye. I hear them whisper, sharp and low, in tones no lips have ever learned, a tongue of sorrow, born of woe, where every sound is lost, then burned. They call to me, they chant my name, as if they know the things I hide,...

Ghosts in my veins  (Marcella Boccia) They move like whispers through my blood, soft specters spun from loss and lore, a fleeting chill, a crimson flood, the echoes of what came before. They hum in pulses, dark and deep, old voices buried in my skin, they stir in dreams, they wake in sleep, they call me back, they pull me in. No priest can bless, no fire can burn, no love can hush their sad refrai...

The door I never opened  (Marcella Boccia) I traced its edges in the night, where dust and silence intertwined, a threshold bathed in silver light, a passage locked inside my mind. My fingers lingered on the grain, a trembling thought, a breath held tight, behind it—shadows called my name, but I stepped back, escaped their sight. Some doors, once touched, will not forget, some truths, once known,...

In the hollow of my heart (Marcella Boccia) There is a place no light can reach, no lover’s hand, no whispered prayer, a silent wound too deep for speech, a hollow carved by time and air. The winds may howl, the tides may turn, yet nothing fills the space I keep, where embers ache but never burn, where echoes sing but never weep. No key, no name, no voice, no art could ever mend or tear apart the...

The echo of an unspoken word (Marcella Boccia) It lingers where the silence sways, between the dusk, beneath the tide, a ghost that time cannot erase, a shadow I have locked inside. No lips have shaped it into breath, no hand has traced it into ink, yet in the hollow hush of death, it haunts the space between the brink. No ear will catch, no voice will claim, no wind will carry what it heard— for...

Letters I never sent (Marcella Boccia) I wrote them all in ink too pale, on paper thin as winter air, each word a ghost, each line a veil, too frail to hold, too light to bear. I sealed them with a quiet breath, addressed to names I dared not speak, to lovers lost, to dreams of death, to days that bent but did not break. They linger still in drawers unseen, their edges worn, their voices spent— a...

The truth beneath my skin (Marcella Boccia) Beneath my skin, where silence dwells, a hidden river hums and winds, a pulse that no confession tells, a song that no one ever finds. It burns like stars too far to reach, too bright to touch, too old to name, it speaks in shivers, void of speech, yet every breath still feels the same. No blade could carve, no voice reveal the weight I bear, the fire wi...

When the moon calls me home (Marcella Boccia) When the moon calls me home, I go, soft-footed through the silver air, where midnight winds and rivers flow and none can find me anywhere. The world behind dissolves to mist, its voices drown in hush and glow, no lover’s hand, no priest’s cold wrist can hold me back from what I know. For in her light, I am unbound, no chains, no weight, no name to own—...

Shadows know my name (Marcella Boccia) The light may turn, the voices fade, yet in the dusk I stay the same. No prayer nor star could tear away the way the shadows know my name. They slip along the cobbled streets, they linger soft on windowpanes, they hum the tune my heartbeat keeps, they echo loss, they echo pain. No stranger sees, no lover knows the weight I bear, the silent claim— but when the...

The silent confession (Marcella Boccia) I carved my truth in sleepless air, where lips would never dare to speak, a shadowed vow, too faint to bear, a whisper lost, a promise weak. The candle trembled in the gloom, its flicker traced what I conceal, a name unbreathed, a ghost in bloom, a wound too deep for time to heal. No priest, no saint, no earthly hand could pull the secret from my chest— it l...

A veil between worlds (Marcella Boccia) There is a place where silence sways, where echoes bloom and fade too soon, where mist unweaves the threaded days beneath a frail and hollow moon. I stand between, I breathe the dust, one foot in light, one lost in shade, a name dissolved, a vow in rust, a step too close and I will fade. The air is thin, the ground unsure, a whisper drifts—too soft to hold,...

The whisper in the wind (Marcella Boccia) The wind calls out in hollow sighs, a voice too old for time to name, it weeps beneath the ashen skies, yet none can hear, yet none can claim. It knows the steps I leave behind, it tastes the salt upon my skin, it speaks of things I cannot find, of doors unopened, locked within. At dusk it hums against my ear, a ghostly touch, so soft, so thin— a name I’ve...

My little secret (Marcella Boccia) There is a word I dare not speak, a ghost between my ribs at night, a thread of ink, too frail, too bleak, that ties my soul in knots too tight. It hums beneath my quiet breath, a feather lost in winds unknown, a vow that lingers after death, a seed in darkness overgrown. I traced it once on frosted glass, the letters bled, the meaning blurred, the moment broke,...