Always uncertain, lulled by the sense of apologetic adjusting.
Words percolate in my mouth.
Hissing and firing unreasons in my mind.
Benign to you.
Inflammatory to me.
My sensibilities caught once more in a straightjacket.
Why do I struggle to speak what’s inside.
When I know you’ll love me still.
These thoughts, born still from being transcendental.
Cared and caring of your own thin skin.
But with your over-functioning and unrelenting.
I risk receiving hands washed clean and silence.
Placing you pedestalled, I swallow once more these contusions.
For fear of reprisal.
Of objectivity.
Of abandonment.
Havoc and Consequence 