Stinging.
Burning.
Bruised.
What ever will I do
Without the meaningful
Sounds which always seemed
Very much like the truth. I too know
What it is like to be beaten and
Bruised. It’s not like I chose
This. But I guess I did
Choose you. At one point,
It seemed too good to be true
So I guess it is my fault to have
Waited for something to fall through,
Waiting for you to show me what
I never knew. It is my fault for
Knowing that I couldn’t do
What you needed me to.
So let me crawl away
With the sliver of
Dignity that is
Left in this
Broken
Mind.
Bruised.
Burning.
Stinging.