Saying too much is regretful.
Saying too little is poignant.
But what is it when you feel
you've  done both at the same time?
There are words left on my tongue,
shards of sentences I'll never utter
shards that I had to swallow.
They cut deep into my flesh
and my insides turned into
a patchwork of glass, scars and blood.
And yet my mouth is dry,
tired of everything I let slip through my lips
when it should've never seen the light of day
or reached your ears
or reached your heart.
I keep thinking I should've known.
But I shouldn't have.
My mind would've gone mad
had I not released it
of some of its burden.
My heart would've dried out
had I not let
a few drops of your ocean
seep through.