i suppose i deserve the warped subtlety
and loud silence, in a karma-sense; after all,
i've dished the same for a long time.

you want me to know, want me to guess,
lips zipped-closed mind-read wonder.
that doesn't get to exist without an end to the hope.
the hit ***** the fan, the bag's out of the cat,
the nail hammers the hammer this time.

what goes around goes around
and i never aimed to disappoint. but i will.

so choking down a medicine, sweeter than i deserve,
listening to songs that are sweeter than i deserve,
this comes honest and idiot, and i've been on both sides
of both arguments, and both sides of the cardiac,
and i've bled out and i've inhaled and i've
made an effort to say too much because
for so long, the silence has been too loud.

should i take the bitter medicine, instead.
a period gets to end the questions
we already know the answers to.