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connor eickstedt Dec 2016
You ask for a poem?
There are no words left in me.
They were torn from my lips but an hour ago when her mouth slipped across my cheek and missed by a fraction of an inch,
There are no words left in me.
Not today, not after the moon has hovered so bright in the sky, too bright to let the darkness swallow me. Crouched outside, begging for the void to consume me.
It doesn't.
Not today.
There are no words left in me.
I screamed them out to the unaffected sky, the heavens that breathed back nothingness; the nothingness that haunts me.
There are no words left in me.
Only nothingness.
Days I grasp for meaning but my fingers just fall through the veil into darkness and it's all I can do just to keep my breath alive.
You know of it, the way silence can scream. How it can scream louder than a crowded room full of hungry children.
It's so familiar;
I'll take the mellow bite of sorrow over it's absence any day.
Pain can shout nasty words in my ear but nothing is as loud as the resonating echo of an empty mind, an empty heart.
Her kiss landed on my cheek and I smiled at her. When she called for me, I tried to answer but somehow, the words were nowhere to be found.
They want for me to sing but I said I'm sorry,
I can't sing for you today.
A thousand words have hit my back and knocked my breath away.

— The End —