Such a simple little phrase,
One to shush an unwanted moment.
I feel the brush of petal soft suggestions,
As these words repeat with ink-dipped intention.
An unwanted touch,
A whispered confession too much to bare.
Please, no one can never find out.
A little sweep under a proverbial rug.
Blink it all away as if it never happened,
You’re fine, I’m fine and no one’s the wiser.
Oh, what a seed that’s been planted in my mind,
It can be handled, it can be contained.
But how I’ve festered as a failing wound of flesh,
My organ walls grow sick waiting to burst.
Disgusting, rejected, stained,
How can I hide these secrets now that they’ve left their stain?
Something within me has cracked down to the core,
My conscience? My propriety? Maybe my innocence?
All are taken by two little words,
How can I fail so hard from closing that door?
Please, you breath so close to my skin,
Too painful for sound as I hold it all in.
My silence is bought with the blood of my own,
And I stand here degrading waiting to go home.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.