I turned to you with the frown most bleak.
Thoughts unspoken clutched my soul,
Swelled up, swallowed me whole.
As out of your bed I rolled
I opened my mouth to speak:
"There are things I never said,
Thoughts, ideas, memories,
Things I see that no one sees,
Things I can't show you, but please,
Bear them as they are played.
I can't speak them for they'd be lies,
Mortal wounds painted in gray.
In my head they seem OK,
But in made-up words I just can't say.
Thoughts are things I can't disguise.
Special soul which you may be,
Too much may be stored ahead,
We walked paths which no one led,
From no book this can be red,
I don't know if you can truly know me."
Snatching me as I got away,
You stood up in front of the window,
In a curtain background of bordeaux,
Smiled a smile that seemed to grow,
Mesmerized me just to say:
"Mortal wounds hurt more than lies.
Things unsaid are superficial,
Things forgotten artificial.
Things superfluous are never special
As long as they don't end up in goodbyes."