This poem, or short story if the background is understood, portrays a distant but constant force inside me. In these few lines, I tell a story that's tread mile upon mile across my heart. Not every story needs an ending, but this story wants one. I end it with these words and therein mark the finish line inside my heart. A race not won; merely run.
These words are like a sticker on my soul. As I peel it off and place them on the page, it's a similar sensation to peeling away a scab. You must not be too early or the pain will be strong, and not be too late or the fun is all gone. Right in between is where it belongs. Strip it off quickly; it hurts, then it's gone.
May 26th, 2014
Eschar
Open mouth, listless stare
turn away, never care
point at her, save your face
piercing eyes.
But you didn't even look.
And I don't want you to.
Fist flies at empty air
bruises are everywhere
neck strains with stubborn pride
salt licked words.
But you didn't even hear.
And I don't want you to.
Pinch the scar, trace the line
bodies all ache with time
burns are just burns are just
burns. Mine.
But you didn't even care.
And I don't need you to.
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