I'm settled; ever so comfortably
stirred up by aging words
they rot, barely familiar on my lips
the warmth comes back, engulfing me
its sickly sweet sludge,
whispering sweet nothings in my ears
a feeling so perfect I can almost taste it
it's persuasive; intoxicating, even
but over
leaving you behind hurts, badly
but there's a reason you didn't stay
I take his hand
and let myself feel alright
YOU ARE READING
the inevitable
Poetryunderestimate, unfold, understand. the third installment from words better left unspoken
