Ashes On My Tongue

There’s smoke in my mouth,

but no fire left.

Every word I wanted to say

burned out before it touched the air.

I kept your name behind my teeth,

like a secret I wasn’t brave enough to swallow.

Now it tastes like rust and rain.

I talk to the ceiling,

it never interrupts—

just listens like an old friend

who’s heard this story before.

The truth gets quieter

each time I tell it.

There’s a storm beneath my tongue,

but thunder’s got nowhere to go.

I chew on memories

’til the flavor’s gone.

I got ashes on my tongue

from the words I never said.

They still glow when I breathe,

tiny fires in my head.

If silence is a weapon,

then I’m bleeding from my grin.

I keep tasting every goodbye

that never made it out my skin.

I wrote you letters I never sent,

folded them into smoke.

Watched them vanish above the bed—

proof that I still choke.

The mirror hums your favorite tune,

a cracked reflection choir.

I’m fluent in pretending fine,

but my throat’s still wired with fire.

I spit verses in my sleep,

but wake up hoarse with doubt.

Guess confession’s easy to dream

and harder to live out.

Maybe love’s not lost,

it’s just unspoken.

Maybe hearts don’t break,

they open.

I keep finding pieces of peace

in the noise between breaths.

The quiet hurts,

but it’s honest.

Ashes on my tongue,

ghosts under my skin.

Every “sorry” I never said

is still burning from within.

I tried to turn pain into rhythm,

but the beat keeps running late—

like my heart,

like my faith,

like the words you wouldn’t wait for.

I don’t want revenge.

I just want the silence to mean something.

All these songs I keep writing—

they’re just smoke signals

you’ll never see.

Ashes on my tongue,

nothing left to prove.

If love was a language,

I forgot how to move.

So I’ll let the fire die quietly,

and breathe in what remains—

a mouth full of ghosts,

and a voice that still believes.