Words run sharp,
Serrated verbs and
Cut-throat consonants
Against the back of my mind,
Blood trickles,
A stab wound that left a gaping hole
In the memories,
Shards scattered on the floor,
Tiptoeing so precariously,
Weaving through glimpses
Of eyes that were aflame with passion
And a smile that made the heart stop,
Not even a lobotomy could pierce the
Vibrantly violent flashes that are projected
In my brain,
Nor could an exorcism raise the remnants
Of tortured souls that were collected like dust
From the slate that I desperately tried to scrub clean