Roast

The ash thickens in the throat and the choke is closer than it ever was before.
The mix of the kiss and the miss of what I meant in the roar.
The pounding heart and the thinking mind bound by the kind of hate I adore.

And the silence is louder than the game, me dragging into the now the forgotten and the names.
The clinging scheme, the precious dream of the never ending inner need, forever wanting more.

The useless mind, the long gone times where the worth is questioned to the core.

And now the broken face, the reduced ways, the need to speak of what we waste.
The crisis team, the heartless teen, the perfection of what I see.
The black and white- no time for my selfish self absorbed cries- only the wait,
the endless gray, the change, coming to the fore.