My tears are the wounded words of what you have said; the thoughts of what could have been stories.
I do not brush them as they shower my cheeks with madness and truth. You were never there.
I have the jagged breaths as I confine my lungs – it speaks the disappearing spines of what was brewing; there, but hidden.
Beneath the harsh skins of the winter brittleness, I release a weep with your oaths; they will not unlatch from my head. God, they are killing me – like you did.
“Breathe,” is my current word. This time, I question myself how.
WORD COUNT: 100
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.