Sometimes quiet is violent.
In the speech we elect to keep,
Our feelings are hidden deep.
It’s pain we keep inside.
It’s pain we see we need to hide.

Sometimes quiet is violent.
In the secrets that we grip
We keep our stories in our lips.
They yank us to our knees,
Keep us living in unease.

Sometimes quiet is violent.
In the facts we fail to tell
We crave the strength to yell,
But our silence speaks the truth.
We are the broken youth.

Sometimes quiet is violent.
In the impulses that rise
We will bury our cries.
But our past promptly fades
With the final exploit of our blades.

Sometimes,