Why
Why does every heated word out of your mouth feel like a punch right to the chest.
Why
Why do I feel so twisted and gnarled, like you've morphed my bones into shapes unknown.
Why
Why do I feel like my thoughts aren't my thoughts, and they're words I've been taught to think are my thoughts, but they're not.
Why
Why do you have so much control of my emotions, ticking time bomb of devotion that explodes and we're left with chaotic motions.
Why
Why do you tell me you love me but manipulate me truly until I've fallen into this unruly trap of thinking I'm fucking crazy.
Maybe
I am.
About the Creator
Sydney Field
broken bones and wilted roses; the pain in a poets heart, is beauty.
Keep reading
More stories from Sydney Field and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.