What business do my secrets have with me?
Are they a glimpse of the contents of my personality? my beliefs?
Do they dwell like zombies we constantly bury?
Are they emotional survival kits
we are forced to carry?
Do they decay upon our souls and provide oppurtunity to gorw?
Are the seeds or weeds? or both?
An alter ego? Or the real side we don't show?
Do we hide them in order to grow?
Or are we denying the impact of our glow?
Why are secrets not meant to be told?
Do they silently riot, leaving you cold?
Or do they explode?