I committed the sin when I pretended for the first time,

I made out the smile from my dead nerves, I made out the phrase from my hollow voice and the body from a severed heart. And I know that everything began there, with the pretend calm of a storm that ended up leaving me as a drifting raft.

Without moral support that brought the strength of the decisions made, and now I’m like this, with less me and more of nothing and all is an ironic laugh that no longer has the pain of an hour ago. 

Because it’s going too fast, and I’m drowning in what I have said so as not to bring chaos, and now I fear the iceberg of broken necks and exposed veins. Because this is how we end up in the slaughterhouse, and I know it’s my own fault for keeping my tongue between my prison of teeth. But I was never taught how to speak when what hurts is oneself. 

TA.