The brave man raised a foot to step forward, but the brave man was not a brave man.
He was a desperate man.
Nothing but a desperate man shaking and shivering under the weight of his own fear.
His tongue left void of taste except the bitter tang of fools courage.
Nothing but fear in a poorly painted mask.
His eyes vacant left with only the sterile glaze of a faint and fractured disregard.  
What a disguise.
What a facade.
Courage isn't all that brave if you fail to put your foot back on the ground.

all of their faces are red. swollen and fat and full of shame. there is a regret to be had here. there is a lesson to be learned and a moral to be made.

Sometimes I want to
scream, but forget
that I have
lungs.
Nails digging into
palms too soft,
half moon creases into
skin like nights
lasted until three
in the morning.
I cannot find
voice;
I am silent.
You may open my
mouth, but the
words are
stuck to its
roof, saturated in
its tongue.
You may rip the
duct tape off,
peeling layer upon
layer of
skin until blood
trickles down to my
teeth, but I
will not cry out,
not even smack
my lips;
I am silence.