In the structure of recollection my heart is gaunt and inflamed, soul shuttered a
tamed.
You place a ceiling high above my head so I can not see the sky.
If I was twisted and jaded,
Would you disarm yourself?
I do not need your hope,
For I carry my own.
I just hunger to know if anyone cares.
The image of you is fatally fading but I can still recall remnants of you.
How does it feel to be you?
To peer upon the soul that drives you to feast upon holes that hide,
To look upon the hurt that binds me.