Now that we don't meet or talk
do you remember me sometimes?
Or did you forget me again
as easily as I think you did?

It was better
if you had warned me
before you walked off
leaving me there alone
with nothing not even a bye
alone, in my own mind,
with nothing but memoirs
of my own wishes.

Unsaid words
don't warm them
but pierce you
like daggers
once they're gone.

Scattered words
and scattered thoughts
with confusion
some perception
are better than
empty pages
and a numb mind.

Sometimes
it seems to me
when you talked
I was a replacement
for who you couldn't get.

Sometimes the silence
screams at the mind
tears at the soul
and leaves a mark
piercing through skin
doing what words couldn't.

Hidden behind veils
stilled in depths below
suppressed and silenced
some questions are better quiet
or they might break whatever little
there seems to exist at precipice.
This fear, the one oppressing
words crowding at the throat
like restless bees in a hive.