There's so much I want to say...
...But I swore I'd never hurt you, so I hold my tongue.
My words are a far cry from pride, but I swallow them anyway. I let their sting coat my throat like an acid wash of rage-- it nauseates me. A rage I know full well will devour me if I let it. A rage that I desperately wish to purge from depths that reach leaps and bounds farther than my mouth to end my silent agony but...
I swore I'd never hurt you, so I hold my tongue.
Instead, I write the words, my penmanship made shoddy by my unsteady hand, a mere extension rooting from the confines of my mind, a mind made unsound by this rancor that plagues my very being. Thankfully, what was meant to destroy us is no match for the pen, nor the page. They subdue the beast that sickens me so.
... And as the ink dries, that beast is contained in a place where it can harm no one.
There's still so much to say...
...but I swore I'd never hurt you, so I hold my tongue.
YOU ARE READING
Miscellaneous Murmurs
RandomI tend to be one of those that has late night epiphanies that I must write down before they disappear. This book is simply a place to put those little ideas/thoughts/philosophies. Enjoy if you please, and do leave feedback, should you be inclined to...
