This Game Called Love
Why do you haunt me,
tormenting my mind?
Making me see
what I thought I left behind.
Chills race my spine,
sweat beads my skin —
you’re the storm that starts
and never ends.
You built this fury
with silent hands,
fed me fire
instead of plans.
Now rage is my rhythm,
pain is my pace.
Each breath I take
burns in your place.
Why do you play
these games so cruel?
Twisting the path,
rewriting the rules.
A maze of echoes
I can’t escape —
your voice, your grip,
your silent shape.
You squeeze me tight
with ghost-like hands,
as I scream into silence —
do you understand?
Copyright © Sarah Moncada | Year Posted 2011
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