Is there ever a good time to cry?
I suppose I shall ponder on that question
until the day I die.
When will I feel pain from shunned wounds?
I suppose I won’t know the answer
until it finally obtrudes.
How long can I secretly harbor this hate?
I suppose I will not be exposed
until an eruption of the breastplate.
What will happen if I fully give myself freedom?
I suppose I expect no one to object
until they see its self-treason.
Who said happiness wasn’t for me?
I suppose I will one day confront but
until then I hold the only key.
Where do you place broken pieces of colour?
I suppose I will one day display them with pride
until then I’ll hide them
beneath my mosaic collar