talking in tounges.

the beauty of knowing another language, and thinking it in your head,

is you have to allow yourself about 10 or more seconds to think about what you have to say, in order for it to make sense. 

i dont speak that language well anymore, but i still know i should think before i admit my fears. and even if those fears ate my conscious, id still hold my tongue before i would ever admit them to those grains of sand that pass through the hour glass like flowing water, tainted by those bleeding words. 

hurt;

beneath the stains of time 

the feelings disappear 

you are someone else 

i am still right here 

what have i become 

my sweetest friend 

everyone i know 

goes away 

in the end