I still bleed from it
Do you recall it?
The cuts along my heart
Never self-inflicted neither deliberate.
Yet they still ooze from constant abuse
The ridges of the wounds form your signature and the scars a tattoo of your name.
Can you still smell it?
The pungent smell of rot
Can you taste it?
Do you remember its metallic taste as you bit into my soul and sunk your teeth into my core taking with you pieces well-hidden and baring them for all to see
Can you hear it?
The beats you forced into submission and rhythm with your constant attack on my senses till my heart beat in tune with yours and all my emotions became a Symphony of your whims.
My deeds a tentative plea
My actions a reflection of your mood
And I recoil at the thought it’ll be less than perfect; off beat
Can you still feel it?
That seizure that tells you we’re connected.
Others have butterflies and sparks
But we’ve felt deeper, known deeper,
Currents of electromagnetic waves
We ignite and we combust
Can you see it?
The blood from our wounds as we hurt. It trickles down slowly as we sign on the ridges of a fresh wound, clothing in anticipation of the healing that’s sure to come.
But for now it seeps.
Third Culture Wife. 