Things I Cannot Say

i page the journal of 
Things I Cannot Say
it is a journal, not a book
not a dictionary or an encyclopedia
it was written by hands of steel,
callused hands with third degree burns
my featherlight fingers burn with scars and 
can only graze the notes

no
you suffocate me with your bad habits
naturally, i cannot breathe so
i've learned to stay quiet and nod, that is
my own little habit
though can i really call it mine if
you were the cause?

you cry for me to be free
while you are still clutching onto the keys
don't worry, i console you, 
of course you have the best for me in mind
you are never wrong

the chains do not hurt
in fact, they've moved in
two circular divots around my wrists
smooth like the Mariana Trench
reader, somewhere down the line
a curse you've known your entire life
is really an old friend

when we catch up over ice packs
the sickness pushes and pinches me
i smile through gritted teeth until my 
knees give out and i fear
i'm going to cry

but we've been here before
i see the brick and white walls when i close my eyes
i smell flourishing rose and weed in my sleep
and it feels like despair