Unspoken

I could pick up my pen and spew out the weakness that traverses my soul.

I could also get my words flying in the air by writing the fatality of my emotional reverie

But I could also let loose my pen from my firm hold and my mouth from my mind, letting them drop through the streams of my lachrymals and the language of my visage.

However, I'm not letting them said neither am I writing. 

The soul communicates to a fellow soul. So, hello! 

Unspoken