over the years it becomes an art.
a locket, hinge broken
tucked into a drawer somewhere.
its secrets hide away with it
present, tangible, yet unnoticed.
a lachrymatory, worn openly
no attempt to hide it.
questions made are deflected, always
the secret-keeper knows this game.
a journal, no page left blank
superfluous decorations throughout.
coded way to spill secrets, or divert
and no-one realizes.
an art eventually overruled by silence.