Rotten

His lingering words leave the air stiff and stale as if his breath were rotten. Their waiting eyes stare impatiently, penetrating my dilated pupils until I look away, letting them figure out for themselves the response they knew, or thought they knew, I was going to say. I cannot look back into those eyes full of pity and pain. Two things I need no more of. Turning around I find myself staring back at you. There's something different about you, and even though I know what it is I hesitate to admit it to myself. I like looking at you because your eyes aren’t like the others. Not full of pity. Not full of pain. Not full of anything at all but really rather empty. That's what it is that's different about you. My eyes start melting in my hands. No, not melting... what is this liquid I am holding? Is this tears? Could I really be crying? Maybe, but I'm not sure. I've never experienced this before. Shame fills me as I stand in front of all these people, and the only person I can tell this to is you because I know you'll never tell. You're never to open your mouth or your eyes again after they close the casket. After they lay you into the ground. While you lay there and rot I cry all alone and I know no one will know because my secret lies with you, safe behind your rotting lips.