The Secret

I am holding a secret in my mouth
It is cold and hard and round and tastes of snow and iron fences.
It is smooth and bitter
It is a key and it locks me in
It is loneliness
It is a white canvas on gray museum walls
It is a mask of names and words.
I am holding a secret on the tip of my tongue 
and like the tip of a steel-toed boot,
It is sharp and dangerous and vaguely threatening
It says, "I am your only friend, never let go of me or you will be all alone."
It says, "Listen to me because I know best. I know you, I am you, and I am yours and you are mine."
I think of the future, looming dark and gelatinous and all consumming. 
I think of an empty playground and a diamond ring.
I think of the inside of my skull, but instead of speaking int existence that which I think is true,
I swallow it down back into my stomach. I inhale. I relax. I ignore