These scars have washed
Away with clarity,
A daring change if pace
From baseless remorse.
Of Course,
What exists is not
Merely between me and my sins.
Torturing my heart
Sparked kerosene tears,
And rended my love encrusted sleeve
Free of sanity.
You had the decency
To treat as a human being.
Even as I martyred
My emotions;
For far fetched closure.
Never again.
In the now,
I am louder than ever.
No overplayed silence
Between self reliant misery
And misconstrued words,
But verbose joy.
Comatose sadness
Is brought to life by
Each happening.
These events,
On principal, read bliss.
The past,
A reverent satire,
Is that.
A musing
Of loosely based thoughts.
I am choosing to get lost
Admidst a new story,
Penned by you and I;
Entwined in the
Clearest bindings.
However,
Speculation
Contemplates the integrity
Of us as authors,
More so the drunkenly chain smoker;
Sober, for the first time in ages,
I interpret simpler meaning,
Appreciating every page
We craft.
