My Unspoken Rule

An unspoken rule
between me and myself
is to only speak
about all I've withheld
when I lay on my death bed
and all is quelled.
Do not mention anything
until you're old and grim,
about youre lonely nights
when the room was dim
and they were all asleep
and the chances were slim
that someone would barge in
and see you spilling at the brim.
If anyone points out
the discoloration of your wrists
and your inner thighs
and your fist that consists
of bruised knuckles
and weird twists,
laugh it off
as if it doesn't exist
and shut them down
when they start to resist.
I've lived my life
this way, this long
and I won't change
even if it is wrong.
Umtil the day I die
they will believe I'm well
and once that image shatters,
it'll all go to hell.
I can't wait to sleep,
to say goodnight,
close my eyes
and end this fight.