words are nothing when they're whispered in my ear
I may grow into them and make them my gospel
but I still stand alone
and when I say alone, I don't mean alone in that "o woe to me herp a derp derp my right hand is my best friend" sort of way
but an alone in a way that stands without a crutch
an alone that follows us even after we conceive and we taste the comfort of primal love
damnit
it's easier to make big words
and statements
than to live them as gospel
to live as white, hot, seething spell and fury
as this or that truth
as if I can find a reason to sleep instead of blink one last time
as if I can't whisper what I meant to yell
when yelling is all that's left
to me
and us
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