I felt my lips trace the word,
barely breathing I spoke out,
meant it to be an undertone,
a single word prayer.
Daring others not to hear and yet be heard.

I glanced down, sidewise,
tracing the marks with my eyes.
I felt them rise and fester beneath my skin
though they were not mine.


It was barely a whisper anyways.


But I knew I was heard from
the depth of my voice and the pain crying out
from behind dark deep recesses,
screaming:
"I will find you someday! Even if you pretend to be better!
And then you will have no words left to whisper in the thickness of this dark abyss!
And then even when you mean what you plead, as you do now, there won't be anyone listening anymore."


But as long as you're here,
There will be someone to hear
Other than my own fears speaking.


Even when I stop saying the word out loud.