I am tempted.
Sometimes.
To write out our story-
Maybe.
So someone might understand.
Only,
That would require me understanding it-
Myself.

I miss you.
Why?
Why?
Why?
All you ever really did
was break me-
beyond repair?

1 year, 8 months-
a drop of blood,
a broken heart,
a messed-up head,
silver calls.

They struggle, unable to understand
why it's so hard for me to ask for help.
The answer:
shame
and the inability to answer one simple question-
WHY?