Repertoire of Forgettings

Thoughts at the cusp of my breathe begin and end with the ease of no darkness but the gaze that only were to seethe and pull away the warmth that I once harnessed There was no crimson, or yerning no signs of ill, but silence being softer still no form of fracture could be seen burning and the passion died with nothing, not even a shrill though 'twas there; being deepened elsewhere lies being spoken; promises broken Passion built upon dead feeling In love mending their hearts bleeding She was from me, and he from his removed from tortured ceilings they envelope themselves with remiss discarding what was for what will be Leaving me stowing guilted feelings With memories I'm ashamed of like dark dealings...