If I never speak it out loud, from what I have learned,
No wires get worn and frayed, no bridges burned.
Keep it between me and me lately, not sleeping,
The loud one deems me to be a fool for even thinking.

Cannot tell if he slyly lies or just casually manipulates,
Him leaving me here more alone, I cannot contemplate.
So we crown him king of this sad insane little dark world,
Better to stay silent on the floor, fetal position, curled.

Leave that genie trapped in the bottle, he grants no wishes,
Only fantasies that kill me faster, once the informant snitches.
They may say the path is wrong, that I am denying life room to grow,
Yet logic persists as the past predicts, secrets kill when others know.
Thomas Spychalski 


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