any words that flow from these hands
will be of you
because right now
you occupy every corner of my mind
or at least the memories do.
a not so fresh wound
that just won't seem to heal.
Is it my own fault
for always pouring salt on it?
the pain inside me burns
but i'm not yet strong enough
to tear myself away,
completly,
suddenly.
words haunt me more
than demons ever could.
they cause the storm inside me
to rage,
to drown me,
drown myself with tears.
the words,
they make me realize,
it wasn't you,
it was me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem