I wonder why it throbs
aches and hurts like hell
every time that moment passes me
touches me gently
with its fleeting touch
but leaves blisters and scars on
my suppurating skin
leaves me
shuddering in pain
a moment spent in hell
I wonder why I choke on my words
mumble and stammer every time
your name is mentioned
in a passing conversation
I turn mute
and all the screeching and the screaming
fails to bring out the pain and agony
flowing through my pores
are left untouched
I wonder why my quill
still bleeds when I write
and words scream and
howls of pain;
I guess,
they are waiting eternally
for me
/to realize this/
to start
writing about you again.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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