Whispers & Mutterings

The Broken Journal of Whispers

P.B. Young2025-04-20T15:34:54+00:00

He said ‘forever’ like it was a flavour.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T15:33:42+00:00

No one noticed when the clocks began to whisper, too.”

P.B. Young2025-04-20T15:32:37+00:00

They left the door open, but I still knocked.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T15:31:45+00:00

The walls don’t listen. They remember.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T09:21:00+00:00

That’s not what I meant. But it’s too late now, isn’t it?

P.B. Young2025-04-20T09:00:32+00:00

The painting doesn’t mind being stared at.
It’s just tired of waiting for a reaction.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:43:59+00:00

The camera only catches the moments you’ve already forgotten.
It keeps them locked away for safekeeping.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:38:19+00:00

The grapes insist they’ve never been sweet.
They’re just pretending for the wine.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:36:53+00:00

The film reel has stopped rolling.
But the shadows continue the scene.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:34:07+00:00

The soap says it knows the end is near.
It wonders if it will slip away unnoticed.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:32:33+00:00

The curtain never saw the stage.
But it’s convinced it would’ve been the star.

P.B. Young2025-04-20T08:34:53+00:00

The chair doesn’t mind the weight of the world.
It’s the silence it can’t bear.