Fear of being found

When each tear is a word I can't speak
If I let them drop on a blank sheet
Could they be read?
Or would they smudge together
Like ink on the heel of my left hand?
Still getting in my own way
No tool made for my use
That I can't break
Or make garbled
Instead, I let them run down my cheeks
Some finding their way
Salty to my lips
Silence tasting like sadness
The rest drip onto my pillow
Frustration wasted
I turn it over
So I don't feel the cold and damp
Left in its wake
When I change my sheets
Wash them clean
I erase entries in a journal
I could never write
For fear of being found