Silence

He was a knife to my chest that kept on bleeding. I glued the wounds with all the Pritt Stick I could gather but the blood never ceased to flow. Every laugh ripped the gashes apart, and as the memories seeped out the joy I felt for a fleeting ignorant second was laced - laced with the toxic poison of my grief. His ghost became my shadow, I couldn't escape it. It followed me always, and grew with the night, stretching and stretching until the sun ran from it. The light kindly left me to be alone, to pull my self together and carry on; but I never was, and so I never could. The silence screamed at me - the deafening scream of absolute nothing. No breathing to punctuate it, no honey drenched whisper to weave across it. Nothing. In that silence his smile stayed. Its beauty corrupted by the mutating dark, twisting into a vicious snarl as my memory of its ethereal purity faded. Instead his smile mocked me, taunted me - hated me. My boy became a cancer. His memory fed on me until I died. He killed me a thousand times a day. Every time I allowed myself to forget him, his memory would smirk and stab once more. My organs so mangled they healed around the knives, forming callus skin that could never be torn again. Except by him. Always by him. So I will be forced to breathe through my trauma, until he wrenches my injuries apart for the final time. Then I will claw into my skin, shred it to the bone and as I am drained of life, let my own smile transfigure -as I finally join him in the silence.