He lives like he has something to prove
Walks like he’s trying to stay in front of him self.
Speaks so stern
wishes he’d once been heard
Trying to heal
Learn
burns Bridges in the process
I still write about
The Taste he’s left on my tounge
The smell, lavender seed,
eucalyptus plant
Recollections, pleasurably discomforted
He acts on survival
this, What he’s done
To survive
I would not wish on him
Or an enemy, even my worst.