So many things to say to so many people
So many things that I’ll never say
At the end of the day it’s just me and myself
Lying naked on my bed
Fingernails longing for something they can’t touch
And doing their best to quench their thirst for life
And I’m dragging my toes along the bed-sheets
Squirming with the words unsaid.
And maybe I won’t let them spill
Because I’m afraid of the havoc they’ll wreak,
But maybe it’s because you wouldn’t listen
And you wouldn’t respond
And they would lay to waste and writhe and shatter
And crumble like a burning paper’s living soul
Left to clutter my mind
Like “This is all your fault. So pick it up.”
Even this will fall into a corner and be swept away
Because that’s what happens to the words I decide to say.