PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have died again. 

I am tired of tiny deaths, 

Of tiny people causing these tiny deaths. 

This cold bathroom tile is the only comfort that I can find. 

At least I can notice the freezing of my skin as I lay here. 

I didn't have that luxury with you. 

I touched your frozen flesh, 

Your numb heart, 

And never noticed that pieces of me

were ripped off

each time I drew my hands, my lips away. 

I ignored the chill in your breath. 

Wrote it off as a damaged good. 

No fire. No flame. 

A fickle, frozen creature who chose his calloused heart over my bleeding one. 

Once again, I am placed in a dark cave

Slapping walls and following the echo of my own voice to reach the light. 

I must always reach the light.