Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Nothing To Say

"...Replaced, altered, that is how I feel...."

Nothing to Say

Unhappiness is not being able
to talk to you. It is almost noon
as I fidget on the couch sitting
by myself when I want to speak
to you. It will be midnight soon.

The word will continue to elude
me. In vain I will wait for the right
word or words with all my might.
The days will speed by like
they always do. In the middle of
the day or night I will break my
silence. Nothing I say to you will
change my self-doubt. My head
will spin around and around. In
vain I will find nothing to say to
you. There are no right words.
There is only truth. It is too late
for me. I still want to tell you all
I feel inside. I keep silent waiting

for the elusive word. Unhappiness
is the word that comes to my mind.
I am becoming unrecognizable to
myself. I go into a place of despair
that rapidly devours me. I try with
all my strength to find the word
that releases me, the word that
ends this unhappiness. Replaced,
altered, that is how I feel. Soon I
will be finished off. It is Monday
or Tuesday, it matters little to me.
I text you words that are safe. How
are you? The sun is warm today.
I am sick of myself. These days I
dislike myself more and more and
most of all, I love you more and more.






Article © Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal. All rights reserved.
Published in the February 21, 2022 issue .
Image(s) are public domain.
More by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal → More poetry → Full issue →
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