You speak in cryptic kisses ( k i s s m e ) that you left littered
and staining my skin, black and blue from blows that once
caressed, now linger as phantom memories of phantom hands
that ******* undone. And those days, although so far
away from where I am, make me feel like a tourist in my own
body. One who stands barefoot outside in the cold, looking in
through the cracked and ***** windows of my weary eyes. But
would you return like a shark who smells blood or would you
wait like a predator in the shadows for me to completely
fall
   to
     pieces?
When all I am is a fusion of crossed wires and mixed
signals, a train barrelling through a dark tunnel of insecurities
and everything you ever said I was when I knew full well that
I wasn’t. Muscle and bone and marrow and guts, beating and
thumping in tune but out of sync to empty words and nonplussed
emotions. A heart that races for no apparent reason and familiar
faces carved into stone. Flowing through a river of blood like a
drunken sailor, with too much pride to ask for help but too much
guilt to set sail for home. So as a fool would do, I will quiver
as I drag my calloused heart towards the edge of the
mountain top where I will squint, and staring into the
setting sun place one foot in front of the other as
it singes my skin to the colour of my sins.