The Chapel of Fractured Time

I heard the clock bleed… Twelve ticks past the truth. In the chapel where mirrors weep, I found your voice, buried beneath wax. Stained glass eyes in shadows blink, A choir of silence drowns in ink. The bell tolls not for death nor birth — But for the secrets stitched in earth. Candles hiss like bitten tongues, Their wax runs cold, where sin belongs. You came in lace, with hands like scars, A ghost in heels, beneath dead stars. The altar sighed, And something ancient turned its head. A violin screamed in reverse, And I remembered the shape of your betrayal. In the Chapel of Fractured Time, We danced between the chimes and grime. With brass that weeps and organs howl, We wore our madness like a cowl. The clock hand pierced the moon’s pale face — And bled us into endless space. You stitched a hymn with broken glass, Each verse a wound, each line — a mask. I sang with lips sewn shut by fear, While your shadow drank my final tear. A hush like velvet, dark and deep, Where twisted lullabies still creep. Trumpets moan in dissonant grace, A requiem without a face. In the Chapel of Fractured Time, Where even echoes cease to climb, We burned our names into the pews, With every lie we dared to use. The ceiling cracked — the stars fell in, And time forgot where we had been. Amen… To the ones who vanished between the bells. Amen… To the hands that turned the final page… With a match.