What do you do when the silence behind your lips is too loud?
When the words are at your throat but lodged in that pass?
When you can’t seem to scream, but it’s filling your lungs?
When you feel the pressure build under that façade of calm?
When there’s no witness to your struggles but the walls of your room?
When no friend to wipe your tears but the pillow you’re used to?
Do you weep? Do you wait?
Do you wilt each passing second?
Or do you pick a sad book?
And cry to the pain of another?