Shaking hands turn black with poisioned words.
A secret, smeared and staned, that you've hidden.
The truth tucked like the sleeping heads of birds.
Cowardice makes the truth too forbidden
so you use tricks to soften what you say,
while concealed aim is left to penetrate.
You let each implication bring dismay.
Such an unpleasant declaration of hate!
Daggers, masked by the swirled ink from your pen,
are not enough to cache the message you send
"I detest you" written again and again...
To shatter a heart, never to see mend.
It's too late to fix words that were bent
But early enough to say first what is meant.
