Needle And Thread

She was the needle
that could only penetrate my skin.
But her keeps coming back to me,
was a thread stitching my wound.
Now that she is gone,
Left me bleeding all alone.
Now her memories are the needle,
That makes me bleed these words.
There are no threads left, nor coming to stitch these open wounds now, these endless bleeding may leave me mute one day.

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My cells are dying
But not your memories

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Years spent choking
on the weight of a flaming sword,
Its edge pressed tight against my throat.
One final push would release the fury,
And drown me in silence.

-

She was the rain,
And I was the cloud,
Meant to lift her,
To carry her proud,
But not worthy enough,
To hold her in my arms.

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