Saying things I didn’t want to say

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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

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