Your memory
it reminds me
of words left unsaid,
souls who are dead,
and letters unread,
stuffed and locked in
closets.
Promises bluffed in empty
rooms.
if only these walls could talk
because I'd cut out its fucking tongue
to shut it all up,
track back in time, stomp it out, pack it up,
and move on.

As fall turns to spring,
bringing misinterpreted feelings,
unhealing, continuously reeling,
stealing what sanity I may have had,
had I had a single second of it to begin with.

Time heals every wound,
but what if there isn't time to
bring me back down, safe and sound,
without a sound to murmur
other than your fucking name,
as the whore you are fucking
screams it out loud in my head.

Getoutofmyhead.

That reminds me:
I have words left unsaid...