Graveyard of dead emotion

 

This empty page sits silent.

Words timidly circle

unasked questions,

but avoid unmasking themselves,

or announcing their presence

by placing a footprint

in the snow white covering.

Instead, they bounce around my head.

Do I blurt them out?

Let them drizzle onto the page?

Or do I contain them within

like a bird in a cage?

 

Would those words hurt

If I let them out? Would they cut

or cause doubt to appear?

Would their footprints leave

and never reappear?

Or would they

bring forth the reaper

to end my suffering here?

I only want to share

my heart with you.

but my heart is broken and frozen

from too much abuse

that it is scared it may become

snowdrops over the page.

Making the page unfit for use.

 

So, the empty page sits

like a graveyard

of dead emotion,

paper thin membrane of

soil drowned under tears

I've flooded from my eyes.

Buried under layers of smiles

and miles of positive travels.

A paper trail

oversaturated with memories

that my invisible ink

won’t allow to appear,

and my hopes become fears

when I see them written,

so, the page stays clear.