Today’s prompt is to write about what is left unsaid, which, oddly enough, I addressed a bit in my poem on what he/she said (PAD 2: What They Didn’t Say). Here’s another go.
What’s Left Unsaid
An open sore pains and pusses,
It oozes and hurts,
But left alone it often closes over
And seems to heal.
Yet appearances deceive;
Inside it festers, and before long
You find yourself picking at the scab
Until the initial sore is
Much more serious than before,