Unsaid Words

The air is still and thick, nearly tangible

And suffocating, as is the false perfection

Of the perky springtime homes,

Concealing the broken, weary lives within.

A sigh of wind weaves through the heaviness,

And I mumble my apologies and sentiments,

Stringing the words together and

Sending them out on a breath,

Over and over, as if they are a prayer.

I picture the words gliding above the breeze,

Dipping low to graze the shiny tar

Drizzled like silly string across the road,

Slipping through the branches of trees

As blooming, brightening leaves part to make way,

And soaring into the homes layered in bright cheerfulness

To dance around the heads of oblivious people

Whom I imagine feel an inexplicable sense of peace

At the simple righting of these twisted mistakes.

But as my words strain to reach their destination

On a now-dying wind, they are yanked back

And shoved down my throat.

I spring back into cold reality,

The unsaid words bottled up inside of my heart

And a bitter taste in my mouth,

The taste of sick regret.