the white light
hurts my eyes
on these pages there are blood marks
from my fingers,
scars that tattoo my skin
and my past
behind my eyes I see
black hydrangeas,
dark ever since you died
there's nothing within me
just the lack of you
and everything else is leaking:
pride, happiness, and love
I'm left with this tortuous feeling,
this suffocating guilt of being incapacitated,
unable to reach you
I can't remember your face, and
it kills me more than
your actual death
but I remember your touch
your voice
and your smell
I've been in the dark, with
cuts spreading through my hands,
deep and hollow
the pencil is my weapon, and
using it hurts more than seeing you die
my mind has become my own cemetery,
one day I'll have to say goodbye
