I Write

Somehow I'm still awake still thinking of the past and the dates. The day that I first seen the green from the leaves change, and his arms wrap around me. The emptiness I felt, and endured, and the meaningless gaze upon his face. Somehow I still can talk, the tongue that sliced the sound, and the quiet room making me feel enclosed and drowned. Somehow I can walk after the way he slid his hand down my thigh and the room went dry. The staleness entrapping me making me want to die. The way my back hit the head board and I still can feel the deep agonizing pain of me wishing I could get up. The walls were off white and now they're orange and I’m drowning in this ocean of lies and her eyes, they're staring right at me. I feel like I'm being eaten alive by the emotional despair that feeds off my soul. His lips and his teeth smiling trying to talk, but I just shut it out and cry. The lowness and the pity and emptiness I feel at 2 in the morning when I'm still awake. The ticking of the clock downstairs and I still can feel his hair. Why am I still here? Why am I still awake?