Who knew there could ever
be a heat that would drive out
the memory of your touch?
Yet my soul burns,hotter than
the very fires of hell, with a pain
I cannot control.
It crushes my lungs, until I cannot breathe,
breaks my spirit so that must hold myself
together as I stumble through my darkened world.
To cry would be to let the floodgates open..
not to cleanse, but to drown.
And you are no longer here to save me.
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