I could brazen and yet keep the truth half unspoken. I guess my strength had always been speaking secrets without spilling them. My words are filled with spells, I must say. I can keep you enchanted while your heart breaks into tiny little pieces. And I'd clap myself for unleashing veiled wishes.
But I couldn't be the mistake you'd commit to. I guess my weakness had always been speaking secrets without spilling them. Even if I dropped a hint, nobody would ask what was wrong with me. You see, I always captivate you with my willingness to bewilder you. And yet, I couldn't present an amusing 'me' for something new.
I could scrupulously arrange these flowers on empty sheets of paper. Aesthetic? I think that is what they called it. I finally perfected the art of speaking secrets without spilling them. I knew sooner or later that what I planted will bloom. It shall be offered to no one but you. In a manner you'll accept; in a way that you'll understand.
Still, I couldn't speak of secrets without spilling them. Or maybe I wasn't as good at speaking secrets just as I thought I was. Three words are all it takes and yet I couldn't.
YOU ARE READING
The Brain is Never at Rest
PoetryHi. This is a collection of the pieces I wrote for the past years. If some of these sounded or looked familiar, it's because I've posted them in another account I used to go by. Thank you for taking the time to read my work! I hope you'll have a fu...
