Sometimes I scare myself

I don’t understand.

I don’t feel like I’m here

A film shields my eyes and I’m asleep once again,

Broken hearted I’m pulled through the day,

Everything I knew was right was long gone,

Now everything that was wrong has disappeared too.

What am I left with?

The burn in my throat?

The Craving?

Or the new piece of cloth that hangs around my wrist to reming me,

Somewhere in a distant place a ripped up dress is left 

A dress now tied to the night of a downfall,

An end of an era.

Never to be seen again. 

All  is left is this scrap of cloth,

My handcuff to tie me to what is gone. 

Reviews

[Not A Writer]

You kinda leave the reader unsatisfied as they ead this poem. We have no idea what the problem is wrong here or what you are trying to communicate.