It seems that now I'm drifting,
back to the pain of love and loss.
My pulse a metronome is beating, repeating.
Relentless in it's pursuit
to bring me back to you.
I'm not so sure I want to go.
Content for now as an empty hole.
A comfortable shell
where love, hate, joy, and anger used to dwell.
Your face is burned into my brain.
Your love burned deeper still.
Now I sit here burned and mangled.
Charred emotions hard to feel.
Comments
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liked this poem once burned twice shy springs to mind yet when love does ots number on you it leaves you drifting alright
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