wrong post.

by epi

Some truths are too


to work our tongues around;


blunt to pierce darkness, to make light.



I don’t love you anymore


I’m not sure I ever did).


So you find yourself

not saying things that

need to be said so badly they almost

say themselves.


And you hope the other


half of you

(baby teeth, a rotted kidney,

a lung that’s forgotten how to pull

good air in and push bad air out)

can somehow hear

words forced to speak themselves

Because you can’t.


And you hope it doesn’t end badly

(for either of you);

But you fear it will.

Still, that fear still isn’t enough

to be stronger than the fear of

actually, finally telling the truth.