It’s during the moments when I’m quiet
that I foolishly give in
to the idea of peace.
I should know better by now.
With every blow you laid on me,
you stripped me of any chance of peace
that I could have hoped for.
Now the bruises have healed,
the scars blended into shades of me,
faded into almost gone… almost.
The almost is what kills me again,
taunts me and tells me what a coward I was.
It’s the almost, the faded pieces
that bring up everything I never did,
every single thing I never said.
Unspoken fears rise up and curdle
against my tongue.
They threaten to choke me.
So I swallow them, again,
every last word I never said to you,
and the burn explodes through my body,
shredding it piece by piece,
promising a life without peace,
if they go unsaid once more.