Needles

I prick my fingertips to release my spirit
Into the silent twilight, hoping
It will reach your thoughts soon,
Enveloping you in crimson desire
That tastes of love and wanting,
Of pain and loneliness and guilt.

In useless anticipation I cry for impossible dreams.

I prick my tongue to release the words
I fail to say in any audible way,
Hoping they will reach your ears soon,
Slink down your throat and echo back
Endlessly until I'm sure and satisfied.

Instead you hide, I hide, we hide.

So now I've lost the needle;
It has come to standing silently
And thinking hard enough to let you hear.
So now it's come to me;
I may as well give up this fight,
I'm wrapped too tightly in this solemn fear.

I'm hidden here behind these words
That never seem to change;
And yet, they do not really count as words
When lips have never formed them,
When the heart has not ingested
Hidden meanings and agendas;
They wallow empty, meaningless
And we never think to truly speak.

Instead you hide, I hide, we hide,
And search for needles.