Anguish. Tears.
Tiredness. Unspoken dreams. And fears.
Squelch and quell histories, better left forgotten.
Better to listen to the hall clock's
echoing tick,
deafening tock,
than let out the words
that can never be caught and dissolved again.
Choke down your life.
Take the bitter syrup of silence, and
repress.
It'll be over soon,
once you reach the long still hush.
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