What I don’t want to hear may break me
But I keep typing through it
Keep speaking words unheard but uttered incorrectly
Cycles of putting the shadow mirror in my face
Hoping it shatters
So I don’t have to
Again
Leaving those I forgot
And didn’t want to care or love
To put in an empty box
As good as a casket unworthy of visiting
Giving up on the coward who gave up on those too strong to love a man
Who broke himself yearning to comprehend
The silence of a disaster imagined
Because of the broken path he walked
That he chose
Scarred feet too calloused to forgive
Choosing loss as his guide
Clay The Scribe 