The words I say might trigger
Heavy, lead-coated feelings
Taste of bitter copper
Straining of the soul

Nothing will be good
When I utter honesty
And dust is swept off of skeletons
Hidden by- guess who?

Quiet could blanket
But what’s the fun in leaving things be?
What’s the point without my finger
Extended in your direction

Be careful with your next choices
In my mind circles the knowledge
Of your ***** little secrets
Wrapped up in craft-grade twine