Poetic Masquerade

After writing this piece & stumbling upon it once again about a week or so later I tried to recollect how I was feeling the day it was created. I was surprised to remember that much to the opposition of the poem, my mood was completely content as it was being thought of. It made me wonder if we suppress emotion enough so that even our own minds cannot detect it anymore. That there is an ingrained torment unable to be confronted, but merely imprinted into the psyche. Anyways, I'll stop being all philosophical & deep and just let you read it.

Internal violence

an aortic shrapnel attack

a flood into veins of regret

for everything never said

and erruptions of irrationality and harshness

For the lack of everything you needed

and the person I would never be

For the days when we were infinite

and now... as I lay hollow

Nothing to reconstruct

only fragments

junk

biological rubbish

senses causing an inferno of emotion

To see is to be burned by memories

To hear- be deafened by silence

To breathe- an inhalation of remorse

an exhalation of nostalgia