We Dangle Sentences

Whispers struggled out by the lisping of the hands are not promises that shall be kept. No breath exists upon your soul, it is vacant of emotion and absent of passion. In truth, you do not manifest salvation, nor are you the living Body of Christ. The taste of your communion is foul. It darkens the universe and is anathema to living. Words spoken in bed are not contracts. The lie is easier to create than to live in truth. We dangle sentences across the room at one another. They are empty sounds of defeat. The past is some sort of mangled memory that confuses the present state of being. I am not the channel of aggression. You are not permitted to define me as the source of all wrong. Flavoured cough drop melts on tongue. Books un-opened lie like accusations upon the floor of the heart. Touching is just an excuse for not sharing. Skinless hands reminding me of delights now shadowed. Someday the sun will shine in brillance over a summer's day of adventure. I want to be alive on that day.