What I bleed, what I cry,what I gasp and hold on to.
You are the solemnity
I cannot be happy for you, because I am no more than a gaping mass
Black hole, carrying a heavy absence that painfully, weakly mimics living.
There is nothing in me that wants to reward you.
I want to crawl into myself
Unto my aches, and die within them. Constant suffocating. Tortuous longing. I give them up, give them away
I let go, because you are what hurts me in arcane ways.
Salt covered paper cuts, lime juice drenched bullet wounds, I constantly search and glean for what is left of me.
But I gave the "more" away, gave it all away. As I give you away now .... Because you
You hurt me the best