the diary - things that shouldn't weep

it screams
filling the silence of memory’s halls
as quiet as it seems
its words drip from the saturated walls
it seethes
carefully restraining pages filled to the brink
not alive, it breathes
it sings of when i bled my thoughts out in ink
it cries of milk spillage
“reminisce of your heart, your arms bleeding
eyes full of wet privilege
so why are you still breathing?”
shallow paper cuts from sorrow sodden pages carve deep
it sings with the broken voice of things that shouldn’t weep