This poem is NOT about suicide or violence. That’s what it might seem like, but trust me, it’s not. It’s about the pain of losing someone who was never there.

It hurts,
Somewhere deep inside.
It’s a pain from which,
I cannot hide.

It numbs my feet and burns my eyes,
What a surprise: onlookers surmise that
I am weak for the tears on my face.

I carry the mark of a broken soul:
An X on my wrist,
Blood on my fist,
And a heart as black as coal.

I carry the mark of a broken heart,
An X on my chest,
Same as the rest,
And my mind’s about to depart.

This fiery pillar of flame,
This eternal inferno of sorrow,
Sweeps all over searching.
For one.
For me.
Thumbing through all of mankind,
From one world to the next it dashes,
But some day all that pillar shall find,
Is the remnants of my ashes.

The fire is all consuming.
Nothing stands a chance.
It enchants you, and,
In one fell swoop,
It scatters all your hopes and dreams,
Rips them apart at the seams.
Tearing aspirations to threads,
Like ripping bodies from the heads.
Like some experiment gone wrong,
A twisted bird with a painful song,
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
The fire looms above me now,
The crackling fills my ears.
I think I must be leaving now,
My eyes are filled with tears.

I might come back another day,
But for now I must depart.
But this pain shall never fade away,
Till the day it tears me apart.