Yes, it hurts. .. but this time I'll suffer in silence
... and I'll heal in silence too
You never did understand the hurt behind my poetry
Nor the feeling behind my thunder
You will never know the courage behind my spoken words
And when my hurt becomes just a thin line of jam beneath thick toast of I don't care
Will you care then that your actions speak volumes?
No rather, they don't even whisper in a vague tone
They are the poorest grammar my heart has set eyes on
I want them to scream in flames and not be vague
Why does my jam have to drip out each time before a little smoke is seen out of them ?
I will heal in silence. I will keep my toast intact. You are underestimating winter
