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His face is a remembrance of my mistake and failure as a lover and of the continuance of my regret and guilt that still kills me to this day.
His soft hair that used to fly through my hands were all but hallucinations in the middle of the night when I wake up puzzled and sweaty.
His blue eyes still reminiscent of the moon's glow that sheened over us the night we kissed on a boat when one night we were bored and decided to go row–that was an illusion of hope had we lived in another time.
His name comes out of my mouth so seamlessly like a dulcet blessing for my ears–yet a tuneless ailment to my heart.
All about him is a mnemonic that I truly loved once, that I truly wanted something, but was too afraid to earn it; he became the pain that irritates my whole being.
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YOU ARE READING
Poem Addiction
Poetry"A poet's greatest strength is his words; his greatest weakness is his emotions; his greatest addiction is his paper that is the world he lives in." -Eskay Kitz-
