damaged goods aisle three
I attempt to plug in holes with written words but today I am void of words for there are no words to bandage the gaping wound that I have caused. I need to un-type, undo the word, un-think the thinking thought, roll the sharp objects that flayed you while you were unaware back into my satchel. To not have your hand to hold in this world is almost too much for me to conceive. I am spinning out of control because I cannot find my center. I cannot find you and I need you to tell me that everything will be alright. Grab my hand colored girl and skip down the path with me. To not touch your skin, to not hear your voice or feed upon your words again is cruel. To myself I have administered the final blow.