The thought of you sends shivers down my spine.
Tight clenched fists
Nails digging into soft flesh
Tiny scarlet globs appearing in jagged lines as cuts form.
Your words make me sick.
My head; a tormented chaos.
A thousand tiny jigsaw pieces being thrown around,
Scattered across black and white memory lane.
These pieces never manage to make a clear picture,
I can only pick a few up before gales fly them away,
Like tiny paper birds, escaping from their soul string cage.
Your messaages are imprinted into the prison bars of my mind.
Like a psychological tattoo,
You made sweet promises on bitter Sundays,
Like a thick, pink smoke you covered my vision,
An ambrosial stench.
Filling the lungs with far worse than ash or tar.
My muscles tensen.
My stomach wreches at the very thought of your sickly, serpentine lies.
Don't coo your soft whispers to me any more.
Your words will fall on deaf ears.