A word,
Packed with power,
Rests on my barren flesh,
It slashes, 
With no warning,
It burns,
Hotter than fire,
And I wonder what I ever did,
Except become a mistake you never wanted,
Holding your dreams captive,
In the shell of my heart,
Covered with ruin,
Of this deteriorating self,
Yet here I am,
An embodiment of it,
Of the sin you would not admit to,
A mistake you would never kneel for,
Yet here I am,
A constant reminder of what you could have had,
You would not resent me,
You never really could,
But your heart did,
It kept secretes in its casing,
Of expressions never spoken,
Except when the anger reaches its peak,
And it flows like a thunderous volcano, 
Burning my soul to ashes,
So when I’m in my bed,
I sleep like the dead,
Not from exhaustion,
But of great lose, a lose that took the very essence of me,
I sleep like the dead,
For I am soon to be.