The Storm

Questions, emotions, thoughts
Stew in the recesses of my mind
Winds gathering speed

Bitter-tinged words rise from my heart
Up hoarse overworked vocal cords
Clawing their way to my tongue

I stop. I open my mouth. I swallow.

Air gushing, throat clamped in protest
My heart, a disgruntled woodpecker
Hammering away, willing shallow breaths

It cannot win. I open my mouth. I exhale.

The words that were never mine
That threatened to consume me
In dark places within and without.

They die at my lips, casualties of the storm.