tip of your tongue

I could turn into a thousand metaphors
the feeling of everything I've left unsaid.

We could talk about the potential of a world
a dreaming world that isn't quite strong enough.

Or maybe the flicker of candlelight,
Hidden within a dusty, forgotten office library.

But everything I could ever say-
None of it will come so close to the truth.

It would be best to be blunt, really, it would.
In the end, though- how do you say it?

"You have to make it, because I'll never do it."
"Don't tell me I'm wonderful. You don't know the truth."

Kind of tastes bitter. It's not bittersweet, though.
I almost wish it was.