your scent fills my brain,
as a last reminder.
flames eating your words,
hungry for letters.
singular syllables.
every pencil mark and eraser shaving
now merely a memory.
if I let go of the past
maybe it will get easier.
maybe it won't hurt to get up in the morning
maybe my heart won't be in mourning.
the scent that you left
on each sealed envelope
now simply burned to ash.
ashes that I will let blow into the wind.
for they are the last words
I care to hear
of the life I had
of what I thought I had
I don't want to remember
the hellish feeling I held.
YOU ARE READING
breathe {poetry}--
Poetrythis is not poetry it is emotion in its purest form; words
