By basq Lyon
I found myself craving feeling again. Remembering when
it flowed
through me
so effortlessly. When
stimulation
was my only priority.
When meaning was found
in the pen and life was lived through the ink.
I found myself speaking in past tense. Hoping. This sentence could end.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………........
I found myself searching-
Through old notebooks.
Savouring every word of destruction.
Reciting the poison.
It festered on my tongue
then
dripped
back onto the page where it first begun.
I found myself reliving-
the memory of when these words were birthed through hurt.
They were worth searching through scars to find.