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A recorded reading of “The Haunt in the Hinge, Pane to Pain”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In the hush of a mirror, hairline-cold, a shrouded shape—both meek and bold— wavers like a breath I never aired, a whisper swaddled in mildewed prayer. No eyes to see, no lips to speak, yet silence thunders pane to pain. Ghost—or only the after-trace of me I never dared to face? The glass is veined like book-back time, calendars ungluing at the spine. I reach; the touch is null and void— a self I broke, a self decoyed. In the strongbox of shade it keeps, the frame remembers how to weep. I meet what’s left—not dead, not whole— the haunt that haunts me: my own soul.
Alternative version
In the hush of a mirror, cracked and cold, a shape in shroud, both meek and bold, stands swaying like forgotten air— a whisper wrapped in mildewed prayer. No eyes to see, no lips to speak, yet silence thunders cheek to cheek. Is this a ghost? Or just the trace of someone I once dared to face? The glass is veined with splintered lines, like time itself forgot its spines. I reach—but what I touch is void, a self I broke, a self I buoyed. Hung on walls of shadow’s keep, this frame remembers how to weep. And in its depth, I see what's left— not dead, not whole—just soul, bereft.
Lyrics
Bathroom light hums, mirror cracked, cold. A shrouded shape sways, meek and bold. My breath stays thin, air does not move. I whisper once, mildew salts the sill. No eyes to meet, no lips move. Silence hits hard, pane to pain. I reach the glass, it will not give. I pull back fast, still the same. say my name in the pane save me from this pain Veins in the glass map book back time. Calendars peel, pages drop like skin. The frame remembers how to weep. The hinge breathes once, a door thin. I call myself, no echo comes. I touch the cut, I feel no heat. I broke this self, I built decoys. Tonight I face this quiet beat. say my name in the pane save me from this pain Open the hinge. Let me in. say my name in the pane save me from this pain
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