"Do you want to talk about it?"
You ask, seeing my impassive face.
It's been a while, and though I could
Remembering feels out of place.
Recollecting just makes it hurt.
Forming the words again is hard-
They're overused; now they sound curt.
In too many I've confided
To too many people I've told
All my sorry, deep, dark 'secrets'
Some warmed me when I was too cold.
I wish I could say more to you,
Explain why it's not escaping
Sometimes it's nice to not talk,
Than to break what I'm now shaping.