It is so easy to get angry and avoid pain by using words likes knives to wound your pride, but what good will it do if the knives have already cut through you and been bent by the actions of someone you thought would never join in the show of drowning you in the waters that constantly flood your face, thoughts write out your emotions and trace them onto your face leaving ashy marks that reveal the pain covered by your sweet brown skin, your skink that is kissed by the lips and folded by a tongue that slowly poisons your heart with the venom of lies that taste so sweet till they rush down your body, chemicals kick in and the flames of your wounded soul are released and then it becomes clear that you’re not who I fell in love with.
