By Aditi Jain
I
In the depths of her soul,
she buried a casket of her emotional storms,
where love, pain, and sorrow lay enfolded.
But recently, the lid has started to crack
and the whispers are whispering through.
II
Little did her loved one know,
she breaks as she falls asleep.
Haunted by the memories she tried to kill-
the ghost of her emotions,
long stifled, have now won the fight.
III
She is alone even in the Tortured Poets Department,
where her heart is the only witness- barely noticed, barely felt.
She blames herself for the pain she can't define.
IV
But her only crime is a heart that's unable to unwind.
It reminds her of the time
when she didn't know what pain was,
when laughter didn't feel like borrowed light,
and she believed in forever and that everything would remain the same.
V
Her heart is now a shattered glass.
The virus of her emotions has spread too far,
infecting her favorite memories —
a constant reminder of the love that drained.
VI
But all she ever needed was love, pure and true.
Someone to hold her tight,
to shield her from the darkness of night.
A soul who could understand without judgment too.
A gentle voice to calm her restless mind,
a warmth that could sew her shattered pieces anew.
A presence that feels like home, steady and kind.
VII
But she is fading a little each day, waiting for that someone.
So now, she seals the lid tighter than ever before —
hiding the whispers, the ache,
the drained love, the stained memories —
and buries the casket deep,
hoping never to find it again.