The vitriol-
the violence gestating in cobwebbed cupboards,
all the features of the face pressed against the wood;
a toppled plateau waiting for the end.

Say nothing though.
The voice will draw it out,
all that suffering and pain;
is the last of the fruit that remains.

Say nothing then,
let it fester,
consume us who feed on it;
not with teeth, but patience, digesting.