"Do you want to talk about it?" You gently ask, seeing my sad face. It's been a year, and though I could Remembering is a disgrace. Recollecting just makes it hurt. Forming the words again is dumb They're overused, now they sound curt. To too many people I cried To too many souls I have 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 destroy what I'm now shaping.