His words cut the deepest wounds in my fragile flesh.
My vulnerability of attempting to clean up the blood was only
failed by missed calls and fits on unbearable confusion.
A sever so deep that it left my bones exposed,
that not even a stitch could heal.
He walked away with my questions left unanswered and a
conscious filled to the brim with insecurities.
If you asked him how he felt, he'd probably look away in fear of
exposing any emotion. A coward hidden beneath his layers too afraid
to convince, even himself, that it's okay to mourn.
He was always 5 steps ahead of me,
dreaming of the next place he could be.
And whilte I tried running as fast as I could to catch up,
hanging onto the little breath that I had,
I always stayed behind,
rag in hand,
cleaning up the blood.