After math 

You ask me how are you? 
I want to answer I am the  after math of you talking about loving me with a mouthful of leaving. But all I reply is a thousand little things which don’t catch your attention.

I say I want to hug you. 
But the truth is it’s just arms locked in losing and permanent smiles that don’t fade easily.  

I say I’m used to the cold, and these odd digits make me feel hot in spring. But I’m just cold from Frozen nothing’s of your silence. 

What a beautiful house you make out of longing. But darling it’s just windowless rooms of pain. 

I say I am numb. But it’s a burden to feel the razor sharp cuts of all these fragments of our present. 

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