I can't sit here and say that,
you have not spoken truth.
Fragile, teary-eyed and crossed.
Our midnight confessions left a bitter taste in my mouth,
as did my confession to the Father.
I want to take it back.
Truth should be heard, not spoken sometimes.
It's as if my body is made of different pieces, scattered and half buried.
I dug them out, but you still hold my skeleton key.
Cut and slash your way to victory & peace.
I need more than just time for these wounds.
I just went for that. I saw that, and out a poem goes!
#2: I don't think what I write makes sense to anyone. Maybe because I just wrote a poem free form...maybe.