Is it filled to the very edge,
The point of inevitable implosion?
My true question is,
Above all else,
Can it swallow Its own eruption,
My voice box?
Gulping down that debris and wildfire until it’s put out by the tears still held hostage?
A shouting match against the demons in my mind is one I can no longer afford.
Only God knows which shriek will be the next to shatter a heart cracked further by its own noise,
As I try my very best to avoid it and anoint my new found peace,
With the kind Silence everyone is so desperate to undergo while they sit or lay alone.