To keep these thoughts to myself,
is the only option I have.
They collide painfully with others,
hidden by a silent front.
To let them free,
would be to ruin everything.
I am a prisoner in my own head:
seeing every scenario
played and replayed –
none of them mostly happy.
So I give a hint there,
hope you pick one up here –
A silent protest to a silent war.
And wonder what you think then.
But I already know.
You're as much a prisoner as I.
Like choosing a path in a dream
that turns to vapors and is gone
struck from the memory upon waking
And now,
it is all I have.
A faint memory of what could be,
and that of which, never will.