I remember this feeling.

[stolencleridae]

shut up. shut up. shut up.
swallow. swallow. swallow.
How can you know exactly what shouldn't be said and then say it as if you were being insightful.

Sometimes I don't even know what I am protecting anymore.
It would be fine if we didn't talk about this again. Maybe it would be fine if we didn't talk again (and it would make it easier if I didn't know that you love me).

This will always be me picking at the rotten parts and being not quite brave enough to carving them off (braced with my thumb). I imagine myself flicking them, with a shudder, to hidden places and presenting myself to you.
I can not wear my rotting parts in front of you.
I could never, will never.

I remember this feeling.
I'll prove it, I'll prove it, I'll prove it.
shut up. shut up. shut up.
swallow. swallow. swallow.

I remember saying once "lets you and I pretend that this didn't happen."
Then, it was too much to have happened. Now, it is too much to have happened.

Too much to contain. Too much to risk spilling. Too much too soon. Too much too long.
So, what did I do now?

Why couldn't I just shut up? It would have been for my own good.