That's Not Safe

I swallowed words like razors in the dark, A thousand cuts across my broken skin, They told me "silence"—so I hid the spark, While screaming softly, bleeding deep within. The mirror lied: it whispered I was whole, But fractures ran beneath the painted face. I smiled and nodded, playing the doomed role, While scars—my silent hymns—betrayed my grace. They told me love was safe, but it was fire, A flame that licked and burned my fragile core. I danced on glass, mistaking wounds for choir, And sang my pain to walls that asked for more. Now I refuse the comfort of the lie, For silence kills, but screaming helps me fly.