Burn.

Frantic chaos in my mind

Holding on to me again tightly.

Explain, explain, explain everything,

But it vanishes in the burn of cinnamon.

Night, while it cloaks my creased brows,

Allows everything to spill into nonsense.

My opinions may change but no one knows,

Why their theories are so very wrong.

I press my fist into the focus of the hurt,

Right on the pit of my rib cage,

The harder I push, the more it subsides,

Until my knuckles turn white as bone.

I gain composure so she might not see

How I despise the taste of infuriated words.

I'll run, I'll hide, so long as she never sees

The conflict I encounter inside when I face her.

Sometimes, the way she looks at me burns.

Cinnamon fire envelops every choice I make.

Silent stares and no words are spoken,

All attempts seem to be irrelevant now.

I love her irrevocably as does she, me,

But how much more can we take?

I'll do whatever just as long as I don't feel so...

Burned.

Reviews

[Frank F. Atanacio]

I have enjoyed your writing style thank you for sharing Frank :)