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When you just can't make yourself say the words... |
whispers, unspoken words, dwell in most hearts occasionally testing their cells, fighting for birth not unlike a chronic physical malady, but a special cruelty of the self intangible, their release never comes settling on the tongue, breathily, unbidden teasing but swallowed once again never making consonance, only diminished vowels an inconcurrent ooh or aah fitting not once into the discourse surrounding given no vehicle, no media, no life they toil, fight, beg for rationality, they rebel and surface in the conscious mind like a lightning storm become an ever frequent consumption resistance becomes survival circumstances, once chosen, now clung to, allow no opportunity frustration is the cage that fear bought you no reply can be made to words unspoken (seldom is seen the scarlet letter that hangs upon the heart) silence takes the space these words ought to occupy deafening, blinding, suffocating rendering incompetent in conversation utterly leaving nothing but the expected colloquialism A bitter taste this unjust brew leaves and mornings woken from dreams that serve as a reminder show the fault's home, paint it's door in red for words unspoken belong only to the heart in which they lie |