Saying things I didn’t want to say
Saying things I didn’t want to say Prisoner of language Prisoner of ambiguity feel like I’ve said nothing all monologues hitherto my death are but a paper fang unable to breach you or them or it for that matter every time I open my mouth regret of category or choice of prose appears The paranoia of misinterpretation Crystalizes the spine Widens my eyes What will your hermeneutic be? Will you fade away from me? Language cannot pick the lock of the chasm of your mind