What is there left for me in the world
But absolute, steaming rage
That I must feel with every bead of sweat on my being
And still walk away from?
What is there left for me
But to scream at the crease in the wall
Where I tore my nails through every night
Wanting you to listen too
When you heard me speak.
My memory of you is full of haze and smoke
Obscuring all the nuance that should be there
Leaving just enough dry air between us
To keep me gasping for more scraps.
If fragments of a life is all I shall receive,
I shall cherish any piece I have.
I do believe in us when I let myself.
The question of whether or not it will continue
Remains to be seen.
YOU ARE READING
As Tears Filled Up my Eyes
PoetryA collection of original poetry strung together. Each chapter is a single poem that can stand alone and does not need to be read in any particular order to be understood.
