Like each pang of burn,
Like every drop of sweat,
To be hung
From my cheeks, from my chin,
There is you in mind
For no reason at all.
For I cannot discern
The origin of this feeling.
I cannot tell
From what Hell,
This anger springs from.
It is just there
And will not leave my presence,
In the back of my mind, I do know
You did nothing wrong.
But, the front of my form
Speaks of where I lay my hands
Deep upon the magma
That washes them.
I then clean my face, and feel the red around my cheeks,
I tear through
My skin, and destroy myself
In memory of our love’s demise.
