I once wrote a poem called
Words Never Said
And the words never said were
"I love you"

But there are other words
I should reveal,
The ones I will never say,
The ones I will not use,

God knows there are
Reasons aplenty why
I should,
Why some would say I ought,

The twists and turns of the knife,
The illogical argument,
The hand biting,
The rage from nowhere,

The blistering attack,
That storm from a cloudless sky,
Savage and unworthy
Stupid words

From a mouth become
Uncharacteristic in its harshness,
Aimed and timed and crafted
To cause hurt,

So many occasions
When no one would blame,
Not even the cause
Could blame me

Yet those words still
Hang unnoticed
Between us as the frenzy flies,
Just barely seen in the battle smoke,

Enough - I - quit

A person who can endure pain or hardship
Without showing their feelings or complaining,
Yep
That is me,
Stiff upper lip and a face of stone,
I will not betray the pain inside,
But what no one seems to remember,
Not even the stoics themselves,
Is that not showing and not feeling
Are not the same,
Not the same at all,
And although my face and tone
Deny the truth
The fact is I ****** HURT!
My heart and my soul
Are curled in a bleeding
Ball in an obscure corner,
Out of sight of the world,
If only they were out of my ****** mind!

Pain I can take,
It's just nerves firing when all is said and done,
A few tiny tiny electrical impulses
Advising of damage or of hurt,

If it's not my head then
I can grasp it and isolate it and mitigate it
And bring the problem under control,
Mostly and more often than not,

Even a heart attack did not
Preclude a presentation duly prepared,
Albeit quieter and more hesitantly delivered
Than my usual confidence,

But the turning of friend
To unreasoning and un-listening foe,
This thing cannot be grasped nor quenched,
Even by a horse sized aspirin,

It leaves ones heart
Pierced with a jagged blade
That rips and tears a hole beyond
Imagining or control,

Faith and care and love
Hemorrhage uncontrolled
Like the tears that course down my face,
Or will if I permit,

The pain I cannot contain
But stoicism is my friend
This day and stoicism
Will stem the flow

Eventually

Fog is a ****** to fight,
You cannot punch it
Or choke it or
Throw it to the floor,
It's just there,
Damp,
Clammy and utterly inviolate

Like the inner workings of another's soul,
We can reach out but never grasp
Another's soul to our chest,
We can soar across
The wastes of space
Yet never quite reach them,

No matter how we try another's soul
Is theirs and once broken,
Perhaps no amount of love nor care can fill
The void created and
Never when that void is full
Of vinegar spite and
Ire

The trouble with ends is not ends
As such as ends always come,
Sooner or later the good or the bad
I have in my life will absolutely,
Like my life here,
End,

No - what hurts is not the ending
But those realisations one has beforehand,
That something was a mistake,
Or that what I thought I knew
I just
Don't,

When you know someone
Truly appreciates you,
Gets who you are
Warts and all then find they dont,
And worse than that - they
Won't.