Suppression supersedes my simmering mind
I quiet myself
Lowering the temperature
So my sadness stops squeaking out
I’m sick of voicing my own sorrow
Sick of sickness
Hungering for warmth in my chest
That first sip that slips past my vital parts
Now I write to peeling walls and piling wants
Sorrow is too tender a word for my mood
I sink through sheets of my own schemes
My silver tongue speaks to you
While I choke on metallic aftertaste
I avoid sleep like the plague
A dismal inevitable silence
When did rest become repulsive
When did I forget the beauty of the morning
Mourning perhaps changed my mood
Left alone I lose control
Delusions boiling over twisted understanding
Burning me like black tea
Burning me like black tea
