Is It The Thought That Really Counts

I feel like the landlord

Who’s left paying the rent

I could fill up some billboards

With things I've left unsaid

I cook, do the laundry

Mow the yard, pulling strings

To keep from looking tawdry

I smile, though it stings

My lack of connection

this muzzle of mine brings

Though I may take exception

I won't say a thing

I mumble under my breath

to avoid confrontation

A fate far worse than death

a silent suffocation

I keep up the appearance

that everything's fine

The veiled transparency

of the overfiltered mind