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The Sound of it Twisting
Last night....
I spilled you all over my pillow
as you seeped out of my dreams.
Haunting this awakening like a small child, who died too soon. Walking through desolate streets.
A calming, an invitation; stained in blood.
A wanting, a cleansing; cutting out the bad.
Knee deep in what I lost.
Waiting as it slowly climbs towards my neck.
...and the silence becomes more than just a lack of conversation, as the past covers my voice and I am made still.
I remain alone through this life.
Becoming all of the words in correlation:
Cold,
Scarred,
and silent.
