Secrets

The whispers are knives
Rows of metallic teeth on one side
One prick could draw blood
Each one stuck in my chest
Even when I try to tell
Even when I try to stop the pain
It still hurts to rip a knife from your chest
So the pain increases
As my mouth continues to form words
The wound widens
And even when a friend tries to help
It still hurts to rip a knife from your chest.

Words are still words
Whether in paper or in air
Whether in a whisper or a scream
Or a text on a screen
Pain still stays the same
The knives still rip my heart
But its serrated edges
Its sharp rows of teeth
They still stay stuck
Tears are still tears
Whether in sorrow or anger
Whether helpless or dripping down his shoulder
Or her’s
And the knives drive deeper
From just the thought
The idea
Of her name.

Whispers between the lines
Spoken with the slightest breath
But the knives remind me
That my whispers are still whispers
No matter the volume, I cannot open my mouth
If someone else knows
I must stab the knife myself
And my own is just driven deeper.

Inescapable
Trap myself in a room, they’re trapped with me
Each knife ways me down
But they still can’t know
They can never know
Because isn’t that what these are?
Secrets?