hush little poet...dont say a word

This vague unpleasant emotion that I continue to experience ,
has developed itself into some misfortunate creature.
An ill-defined tyrant pushing across this never-ending timeline I hold claim to.
I am flawed to the point this sword I used from my mouth has turned
From my sharp worded weapon to a shovel that buries me ,
Even to the whispers I hold tight within my self ,
Deepens my depth.
So I stand here, Bleeding from the mouth,
 blindfolded by this mortal tongue,
'that I may not repent upon my character ,
And torn apart from my sorrow.
My fear of damnation lays fruitless
Upon my shadow between the release of my affliction
And this bleeding storm ,
Only left in this light to recognize the pain from whence
I hemorrhaged .