I would like to describe my heartbreak.
But,often, the words are collective and too sullen.
They breed in herds, one after the other, and rip themselves to pieces like my thoughts commanded them to do so.

My mouth is a cavern,
And it holds vessels upon
What ideas have managed to
Escape it.
When they tell me to speak,
An abyss grows throughout its edges
And commands features of it to be
Progidies, of masterpieces that only
Hint up out of their true meaning.

The tongue within it shakes,
Often reminded with all I am
Combined with all that I fear.
The thoughts, they run away,
And, When they tell me to speak them
I collect only their memories,
Like they would leave an impression that counts as something meaningful.

I run away.
When they tell me to speak,
I am in the forest again,
I am watching the trees, the leaves,
And i am about to burn it to the ground.
I am holding the lighter, and they are calling out my name.
They are staring at me.
They are staring at me.
But still they call my name.
And my words are in a herd, collective and teeth-bared,
But I'll never open my mouth.
I will just leave the wolves growling within me.

When they ask me to speak, they will only hear their echoes.