The Weight of Stains

There’s a water stain on the ceiling,

a slow drop of secrets revealing,

like burdens kept tucked, whispered in shame,

it glistens dark as it tells its name.

My roommate rants about her pain,

tracing patterns of love gone plain.

We sit in silence, each of us caught,

feeling the weight of all that we sought.

It drips from the past, a burdened gaze,

I close my eyes, lost in the haze.