Not something I expect colments on. No remarks about my spelling or grammer.
Tears abound, I can see you just out of reach.
I place my hand there.
It's you I want, not this.
Not the pain that seems ever comsuming and present.
Take it away, make me numb again.
What's the purpouse of the blind stumbling...
The groping of inconspicuouse fingers rushing through ones brain.
Loud and pronouced, every eco a reminder a knife apon the ever present wound
That with the right pressure would drain me of all life.
I tell myself "It will come. In good time I will see you again."
But I can't help the tears that stream.
The screams and snide colments that slip from my lips without a second thought.
The hurt and push those away from me that I need to pull closest.
So I stand alone amoung the dark, and allow my tears to stream.
Silently asking myself, "Now how do I procide"