deep shades of black and blue
pressed time again
to withstand the pain of remembrance.
I pick and scratch,
until it becomes a scab, a scrape—
revisited and reopened
in the dead of night
hoping I won’t wear You as a scar.
Your absence, a void,
a gaping wound,
sealed, then cracked anew,
red ribbons streaming,
gleaming, glistening,
reigniting my fire—
but I burn on the pyre.
the heat envelopes my skin,
boiling, bubbling, burning
beneath the Sun’s cruel gaze,
felt on all sides,
yet I crave its touch.
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