Nothing to be Said.

You move your weight over to other side of the bed,

Because it’s colder and all these ghosts appreciate your pain,

When it lingers, softly in your stomach,

And you had wine about three hours ago,

When it lingers as static on your skin.

I withdrew my constant need, all my magic has no power here, in my ribs,

I took the last words: “I have nothing to say to you”, a hue of violet,

A red dream, where I sustain my longing with more wine,

I think back on years of youth, when I was 5 and my biggest hurt was being picked up late from school,

I took silence as a choice, rid the careful precision of our noise, explosions to resurrect everything we might have lost.

I hunger viciously as cracks and fissures pile up in my chest,

I didn’t know a visual display of all my sorrows,

Could form underneath my breath,

And fragmented halos could appear upon my head,

And I’d still be asking for forgiveness, and you’d still have nothing to say.

You cover your eyes with sheets when the sun hits your face,

And morning feels like ceremony but you’re hollowed out,

I’d feel the distance so much more because I want to cuss, and form burning rituals,

To wake you from low energy, but I’d feel powerless anyway, this brown skin is a pit against the world,

And the only thing that stings is that I have so much to say and you have so little.

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