Your silence is a blade against my throat. I taste the salt of what isn’t there, the cold architecture of your vacant chair. Every beat is a bruise, deepening under the skin. I do not want to touch you; I want to haunt you with the memory of your heat. The darker the night, the brighter the hunger burns. You are the void I cannot fill, the song I cannot finish, the ache that keeps the dark breathing.
Write a comment