Sometimes I want to
scream, but forget
that I have
lungs.
Nails digging into
palms too soft,
half moon creases into
skin like nights
lasted until three
in the morning.
I cannot find
voice;
I am silent.
You may open my
mouth, but the
words are
stuck to its
roof, saturated in
its tongue.
You may rip the
duct tape off,
peeling layer upon
layer of
skin until blood
trickles down to my
teeth, but I
will not cry out,
not even smack
my lips;
I am silence.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Sometimes I want to
scream, but forget
that I have
lungs.
Nails digging into
palms too soft,
half moon creases into
skin like nights
lasted until three
in the morning.
I cannot find
voice;
I am silent.
You may open my
mouth, but the
words are
stuck to its
roof, saturated in
its tongue.
You may rip the
duct tape off,
peeling layer upon
layer of
skin until blood
trickles down to my
teeth, but I
will not cry out,
not even smack
my lips;
I am silence.
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