Quietly Desperate Inside

Sitting in quiet desperation, wanting to be able to talk, I find I cannot. Insides turning over, flipping out, because of stress, being tuned in to a past that fills me with fearful dread. Knowing that to talk is best, finding it cannot be done, even though it would lay to rest all memories of yesterday. Living in a secret hell, wanting to get through it all, but never tell a soul about it. Sitting here in quiet desperation, filling my soul with prayers - unanswered - hopes unfulfilled. Crying deep inside, afraid to get angry and yell four- letter words. Afraid that I will go to hell, because of what I might say. Knowing all along the hell I'm living is the worst kind, I pray that I do not stray. My own choice, my free will, sitting in quiet desperation, praying and letting myself go.