Every Time the Words Don’t Speak

Every Time the Words Don’t Speak

The mud that gripped your mind
is the same stuff that oozed
through your heart that day
under that early moon.

The heat on that skin
dried your eyelids.

The pressure to win
keeps many a bloodwalker
stepping fast across this bridge,

but that one is too cocksure for that
and you never dream except for nightmares,
so what could you lose but your heart,

once you’d surrendered your mind
to that mad manhood.
As sharp as it was,

it did not stab
like the knife of the silence
that twists in your heart
every time the words don’t speak.