A poem by
I am vexed & cursed by a need to say words to another yet so afeared of what my utterings may loose -good or ill.
Such an old coward am I; where blades never quickened the pulse, mere confessions set this withered heart aflame.
Were I to face a thousand, I would not blink; yet to face that one, I would shut my eyes until all sight would bleed out.
Comforting lies hide unpalatable truths & I am the greatest liar of them all. This tongue worked wicked to protect an unworthy soul.
So all can go down to that cold, lonesome depth to dwell. To dream. To pass. To play.
And nevermore say what should be said to one who may never hear.