The blood seeps from the inflicted wound,
it stains the armour that you have worn for so long.
You go to clutch the laceration,
except that there was none.
It stings and burns and aches.
But there is no wound that you can see.
But oh do you feel it.

I trade my time waiting for a response for the text I sent you.
I trade my time asking for you to pick up the call.
I trade my time picking up the phone again to check for your name.
I would trade my life and the next,
just to hear your voice.
I would trade the fingers that turn my book pages,
just to hold your hand once.
I would find a way to turn my running thoughts of you,
into a source of power to keep us away from the burning sun
so that you could go on to actually live
with, or without me.

I want the words that I keep to flow out of my mouth like they did.
I want to soar into conversation with you and fill you with secrets.
My mind doubles back, and cations me.
Trust is a silly thing.
Once broken it can never truly be repaired.
So now I only tell you the things I do not mind you telling others,
for that is what this friendship has become.
A crowd hiding behind you with a one-way mirror.