Someone else

I read them all last night.

The ones you never saw,

The inky stains on paper.

The ones I wouldn’t let myself read.

The ones I’m not supposed to think.

Let alone write.

The ones that never feel my breath.

That never see my salty tears.

The ones that are beyond pain.

That wring me out from toe to every hair

And leave me dry.

Empty.

Lifeless and cold.

The bitter soars, painful thoughts.

The sorrow, remorse, and the hate,

Inscribed on paper.

Where it lives and feeds on my sleep.

Where bleary eyed insomnia drags me.

To relive night after night,

The horrors within me,

The scouring of my soul.

The deep striations,

Cleaving myself in two.

I read them,

All of them,

And I didn’t cry.

I didn’t cry.

Because I couldn’t.