And sometimes it still hurts.
Sometimes I still feel the lingering sting of it all,
a memory long gone, slowly fading, but still within sight.
And sometimes I have nightmares about you
that give me shivers and cold sweats,
the image of your screaming face still imprinted in my mind.
But you were poison oak and my skin was much too fragile
to make it out unscathed.
And sometimes I can still feel the bruises you left behind,
jamming my fingers into them,
as they weep like tiny stab wounds.
And I am left here,
still trying to wipe your name from my tongue,
and oh how bitter it tastes.
Tag: the written word
I Will Never Stop Searching
My heart yearns for you
Aching with the solemnity
Of loneliness
As my fingers reach out to caress
Your soft frame
Yet all I can feel
Are the empty sheets
And dusty pillow
On the side of the bed
Where you used to lay
And I can’t help but wonder
If my hands will ever stop
Searching for you
But I have yet to discover
Whether that is either
A blessing or a
Curse