They said,
"Pour your words into art
of a nice, meaningful reading;
make some good out of your broken heart
in the act of exclusive healing.
One can be favored a masterpiece
while one is a mere *******.
One can reach the advanced remedy
of forgetting what used to be
while one can only regret
everything that should've been kept unsaid."

But it is not true what they said.
Words cannot easily be poured,
sweetened with additional flavor of phrases,
sentences,
paragraphs
of one's sick, desperate, brutal dysphoria.
What if the words rebel?
What if the mind's not able?
What if everything one keeps inside
is only meant to be put in the dark?

They said words are as powerful as a weapon,
but it is not if one does not know how to play the game.