jueves, noviembre 09, 2017



It starts slowly and you can’t see it,
You know it’s there,
but you can’t pinpoint where.

You say one less word,
hear one more silence.
You keep a feeling quiet,
and feel a little worse.

Only there’s always more,
you see it now.
You close your eyes,
try to kill that thought.

A thought that doesn’t die,
that won’t ever die,
not anymore,
not any more
that the truth will.

And then there’s that voice,
the one that only speaks with agony.
The voice that remembers,
the one with experience.

“Bury it before it gets there,
to the last breaking point.
There’s no cure for that,
no returning from that”,
whispers the voice.

Only it’s always too late,
you see it now.
You open your eyes,
cry to erase the hurt.

And you say less words,
and hear more silences.
You keep all feelings quiet,
and feel a lot worse.

It starts slowly but now you can see it,
You know it’s there,
and you can tell exactly where.