Missing Dialogue

So forbidden that it can't be written I don't know what I'm gonna say to you. No mistaking what I'm contemplating takes away the words that I would say to you. Ink bled, book red, no dialogue.

What will we want when we're walking wounded, words which we waste wishing hate on the world? When will we weave words we wouldn't want whispered, words which would wake whomsoever heard?

All I do is make my own stupid mistakes but they tell me somewhere I will find it's written, if you clean the stains all the words remain but it's not as if I didn't try to listen, and I can't read what I can't see. I can't believe that you don't bleed. I can't feed this fear within me, can't leave until I know you've heard.

So forbidden that it can't be written I don't know what I'm gonna say to you. No mistaking what I'm contemplating takes away the words that I would say to you. Ink bled, book red, no dialogue.