The feeling is fresh again.
I know this started.
I'm back to the end.
Choking on words
I never spoke.
Words that hurt.
Words I never said out loud,
but words I wrote.
How did it begin here,
and why am I back?
Life repeats its poetry
and the pen retreats
into my mind somewhere...
The familiar burning,
the unforgettable hurting,
what did I do to become so
undeserving?
The glorious red
that my eyes read when
they register at my head.
The flash of silver,
the tiniest pressure,
the ultimate pleasure.
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