There is a slinking rhythm
To the untold secrets
In your fragile conscience.
It’s not the time to disclose them.
You might believe you’ll feel
But the simmering pain
Is what drives you, makes you real.
Swallow your pills and wearying cries.
Whatever it takes to go on.
No one ever needs to know
What you must do to stay alive.
© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.