don't want it to have a voice, but it still comes up.
know it has no power, yet it swelters just beneath my surface waiting for a moment of weakness
don't want it to have a voice, but to deny its existence is falsehood.
understand that it's defenseless against the spirit within me, nevertheless there it is: anxious for me to let my guard down
won't dare let it escape my fingers,
can't let it bleed from my pen,
absolutely will not let it escape my lips,
because i don't want it to have a voice.
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