The silence falls, heavy with years of
longing
for safety.
And there you are, preaching about how
sin is the only thing that can
separate us from God.
I wonder if you're listening
to yourself, to the
echoes of truth in what you don't say.
You sinned.
You separated yourself from God.
Did you come back?
Ask for forgiveness from Him and just
forget about me?
No repentance,
No forgiveness,
No salvation.
The words burn
like the years of being
Slowly
Deliberately
Touched
by the flames you lit
when you threw a match
on my childhood.
I learned everything
you taught me
about how I was
nothing
but a solution to a problem
you didn't really have.
The only thing
wrong
was
you
not knowing
how to make yourself feel better
except by making someone else feel worse.
And now
this moment is filled with
me
feeling worse
without you even trying.
Your voice from the past
blends with your voice now
in layers that spill over each other
until all I hear is the noise of
my mind shattering
as you push your way
inside.
I freeze at the onslaught,
longing for safety,
for silence,
but the old whispers are back,
telling me I'm nothing,
slipping through cracks I didn't know I had
in walls I built as a child.
There is no closure,
just the rise and fall of your voice,
timeless,
and my breath
trembling
in its wake.