I Write Poetry
Time. Am I to mend in time?
But how when there are no places
where your words will not find me,
where your face does not appear,
where my heart stops racing,
where I can not erase you.
There is no sanctuary as you
are ingrained in every part of me.
I claw at my chest,
sinking my fingers in,
desperate to extract you,
pulling myself out from inside,
but to no avail.
I am left only
with stained hands
and a wound
that will not
heal with time.
But how when there are no places
where your words will not find me,
where your face does not appear,
where my heart stops racing,
where I can not erase you.
There is no sanctuary as you
are ingrained in every part of me.
I claw at my chest,
sinking my fingers in,
desperate to extract you,
pulling myself out from inside,
but to no avail.
I am left only
with stained hands
and a wound
that will not
heal with time.