Glass

When layers of thoughts are broken like glass, our words can stay shattered.
People do not come with instruction manuals or warning labels.
Piecing back broken memories is like trying to stop a tornado from moving a feather.
Maybe some thoughts are meant to stay untouched.

The shadows of unspoken thoughts can create a fear of the dark.
The only things that form and remain true are the only things that truly exist.
The monster under my bed revels at the fact that I cannot communicate my uncertainties.
Listening to one’s troubles can be as difficult as admitting your own.

Why do I even speak?
I'm drowning in the memories I could never relay into words.
The swimming pool of my faults is filled with the tears that come with failure.
What are words if they are never truly understood?