You have your secrets, I have mine.
Tell yours to those around you, let me keep mine to myself. They're safe inside.
My secrets are about your secrets.
Your little whispers, hidden smiles and agitated glances are what my thoughts feed on, what nourishes them into a vengeful creature - vicious, yet dormant. The more you struggle to keep hidden from me, the stronger the beast grows.
But it will never release it's fury. The bigger it gets, the deeper it begins to drive into me, the angrier it gets as it eats away at my inside.It grows not to wreak havoc on your life but to destroy mine.
You can keep your secrets. The ones I have are enough for me. Too much, actually.
They say talking helps. Well, you talk to them, they listen and then talk about you again. More secrets.
The last thing I need.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"Writing is a form of therapy; how do all those who do not write, compose, or paint manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in the human condition?"
- One Invictus
- Hypergraphia compels me to put down every unspoken emotion as it passes by.
No comments:
Post a Comment