nothing succumbs,
or comes close to words,
that chafe neck and face,
not to tongue or cheek,
or punch could shatter the teeth now in mouth
that cannot produce voice,
quiteness now resonating,
not still,
this is not a stillness neither tranquility,
my soul is suffering and the ache is fearsome,
she is kept hostage in this body,
not a steady state to be in,
inferno in chest
my soul, keeps withering and weeping,
anguish of the burnt,
I cannot describe the winds blowing in my chest,
I may be able to part eyes with you,
have tears running down face,
tell you all is fine,
but oh I am under conflagration.
I am a liar,
a tease,
I fooled myself,
told myself your death had not occured,
now the treacherous being of I,
will pay respects
to the body
that is ever so absent