i'd give your name to the angels

if i had a new language. that's what their myth would be called. The way you cut through me... wait. You don't cut. You aren't another simple burst of emotion and interpretation. You are haunting. You are this cold winter's night. I'm held inside. Stranded. I try so hard everyday to hear your voice... to feel you... just to remember. You're less then a ghost...more than a memory. part of my consciousness. a daydream about the eye of a storm. i hang on everything new i can know and covet what i can remember. it burns in my mind...does it even have a color in yours? it tortures me i tell you. and everyone can see it. if i've wronged you, made you cry, then you're avenged. this was a vengeance suicide. i cut myself with regret. With the sharpest confusion. the sores have never healed. can you hear any of this? can you feel me pull? your interference is punishing and i hope these words can capture how truly frantic this feels. the desperation... the shiver that starts in my gut and slips through my limbs. it's a nightmare anatomy. you in the dark. images of charts. dichotomy. anatomically correct. if only you could speak...i've almost forgotten...your voice