the only time i feel a thing
for him
is when we argue.

Within the absence of sound
I find remote solace
From my own turbulent emotions
But memories continue to burn
Ignited by my own fears
Even as I close my eyes,
My own guilty mind has been taken
Consumed with a sorrow filled bitterness
Engulfed by a desperate inferno
Of tales that I shall never speak

If tears,
Could fall as easily as ash
I think perhaps
I might find some semblance of peace
From the fire of my own mind
Yet I am left to wait
Feverishly hoping
For the moment when I shall be released
From my own self inflicted hell

I grow tired of waking up to my own screams

© 2014 Peach

i have bullet marks for pores
on every inch of skin
you touched.

i miss you . . .
like, i miss talking to you
is that weird . . .?
i'm sorry.