It is unspeakable
Yet I find words in the darkest places of my memories
That leave my crevices torn.
The taste of deception in your breath is but a million concerns for me.
‘Could I ever?’ is but a question I incessantly pose myself with,
for the fear that one day I will never unearth an answer.
Why are you hiding?
This is not a test, and my lonesome ears are eavesdropping for a piece of your word.
These walls are thin but my heart is thickened flesh encompassed in veins that ship blood to the places that yearn to bleed at the thought of your voice.
I will not bleed.
I lay down face up and talk to Him. You, sinful warrior,
or worrier.
There’s a difference and you managed to scramble up these definitions into this conjured dictionary of menacing deeds and misconceptions.
You are fooling no one.
And I pray,
And I pray every evening until I can hear your words again
“I’m sorry,”
I wish I was.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
It is unspeakable
Yet I find words in the darkest places of my memories
That leave my crevices torn.
The taste of deception in your breath is but a million concerns for me.
‘Could I ever?’ is but a question I incessantly pose myself with,
for the fear that one day I will never unearth an answer.
Why are you hiding?
This is not a test, and my lonesome ears are eavesdropping for a piece of your word.
These walls are thin but my heart is thickened flesh encompassed in veins that ship blood to the places that yearn to bleed at the thought of your voice.
I will not bleed.
I lay down face up and talk to Him. You, sinful warrior,
or worrier.
There’s a difference and you managed to scramble up these definitions into this conjured dictionary of menacing deeds and misconceptions.
You are fooling no one.
And I pray,
And I pray every evening until I can hear your words again
“I’m sorry,”
I wish I was.
-Chloe Aldecoa
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