what she told me,
by accident, laying there late at night in a bed not mine or hers
is too horrific to pen, the kind of grisly detail
that is sacred and ****** in a breath,
a red-stained skeleton, the reason for all I had believed was true,
but it has been disproved,
I will hold this intention in the silence of my heart
in between privacy and freedom
unexposed, sealed by the scars
a slit-like layer of muscle that writhes uncomfortably under the surface
I am wrong but I am right,
it is over, but how shall I go home
what kind of secret can I not write, or tell to my dearest friends?
what kind of secret demands to be buried and hidden,
for it must be; only Hell can contain this- it is not for earthy eyes
it is the only thing that must remain unwritten, the
only word that must remain unspoken,
even when all else fails and all truth comes to light,
I will retain one thing,
in the happiest of moments and most intimate of conversations,
I will not be completely there,
even in the poems that write out my heart,
they will trace every tendon and pulse every vein but they will not,
they cannot trespass into this realm,
it is forbidden, locked in the deepest cave of my soul,
never to be acknowledged or even comprehended
but I do not know how to live like this
and I do not know how will I ever be able to face him again.