whisper and the untolds

i have so many drafts. like 23 or something.
i never stop writing, never stop talking, yet its amazing how little i truly say.
i never stop my hyperactivity, never stop moving, yet its amazing how stone-stiff i still am.

i'm holding so much back in, so much art, so much anger.
i'm not really letting myself scream it, sound it out.
it all stays here, i got rid of so much, yet its all still so here.
i can't cry, i always slap myself back, it stings worse that way,

but i just can't let myself (i know you can't either, i know that you know).

i feel rather explosive, dear.

i don't think i will blow up, not really sure, as i already have the power of a bomb, but i think i will slowly, silently, begin to wilt away. oh, yes.

break me down now, open me up.

and the silent severed serenades,
softly in the starlight, now, stay still.
no sunshine speaks, no stars release,
when shall we be set free?
oh send me soaring, shining saviour;
whisper me away.
start out your swift silk melody,
and suffuse my aching soul.