To speak or not to speak,
Whether tis’ better to seek
These emotions within
And speak our own sins,
Or choke back words
That should have been heard.

Bottled up wrath
Is sure to get in the path,
A path that grows and mours,
With lies and regrets,
With all those things you can not forget.

If the truth sets thy free-
Won’t it listen to my plea?
Thoughts rot at my throat-
Pages and pages I’ve wrote
But the pang of deception does not meet the intention.

These words seem to flutter,
But they come out no more than a mutter,
Everyone is glaring,
My insides are tearing,
But they have not heard,
Not even a single word.

My lips remain mute,
My senses much less than acute,
Locked up by my own fears,
But I can not manage not even a tear,
And I feel like I’ve drowned,
Within my own sound.

Saying words,
And fearing the world
Will not understand-
Would be the last strand.
To rip yourself apart
And spill your own heart,
Count the blank stares,
And wonder if anyone cares.