some bitter feelings like to roost; to roast awhile in perfectly strong black tea; spoil the milk in a new cup of coffee with no sugar, no cream; bring a tart flavour to the special dinner pie. with a pedigree underneath as a piled up hanging over crest in the hay broods lone-aly in the corner of the deep dark hull. but the whisper can only sometimes hide it, while others it shows the furthest in and sourest - the dream worn ties. the feelings that brood can only lie. they tell of no beginnings, no ends, no cherished times in better days when thoughts were greener and holocausts were bacterial disease; just take away thier feed. (where would the song be with no inner voice to scream) the bitter rots, it seems to burn, but never quite goes away. within some hearts lie bitter coals that always remain alight. they can only sometimes simmer; they never shall go out - a glaring, bright red skin lingering solely in the dusk. (but sometimes we fall short of ourselves) into undo times with undo sour cries, apart from homely quiet tomes that breathe in softly on their own end. there may not be, for there never was. bitter in the night, calm waters with no undertow. speak but do not yell, my friend. you'll wake the alive this time. end the sparkling wine, it gleams, it burns the eyes. drink some vanilla flavored discontent and mayhap you may find an unwelcome heart that's always lied within but has been quiet until this day when all seems so much nearer to its end. (kick not, beat not, forgive not; it hates you) forgive not, for it hates you. please just hate me back.