Ignoring the senses


I hang on to his words.


I see not,

The darkness that he brought,

Nor the pink stain on his coat.


I smell not,

The hate on his breath,

Nor her perfume on his shirt.


I taste not,

The bitterness of his kiss,

Nor the blood on my lips.


I feel not,

The pain from his hits,

Nor the stings from the welts.


I hear not,

The plea of friends,

Nor the footsteps of death.


I pay a price.


I see,

Nothing behind these curtains.

My eyes closed before time for certain.


I feel,

The earth shoved on me.

The heaviness mounting.


I hear,

The deid bell jangle.

The shovels scraping.


I taste,

The gritty sand on my tongue.

The wetness of moist dust.


I smell.

The stench of my failure.

The fragrance of shangri’la.


Smelt too soon.


Because I hung on too long.



Image credit: Ractapopulous

14 thoughts on “Ignoring the senses

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