Embers of the Wreckage

I feel the roots growing inwards,
piercing the flesh and running through my veins,
until I am nothing more than a product of my anger.
The poison hunts tirelessly for a chink in my armour,
until it kills the light that once burned.
The delirium of passion and the ecstasy of grief,
the needle sharp clarity of the hatred that once filled these four empty rooms
has dulled to a numbing ache,
the nagging feeling,
the fear that I will never feel alive again,
the bitter taste in my mouth
and the slow creeping terror that chills me to the bone,
that underneath it all...
This...
This is who I really am.
If pain reveals the truth, then this is who I was, am and will always be,
and it's not for you, it's for me.
The embers of the wreckage still smoulder in your eyes,
so throw another kiss onto the fire,
create the rage one more time,
and consume these bridges between you and I.
The time that has passed hangs in the air like a tension bridge,
every second gathering dust,
and the hands move across my skin,
and I am lost again.
I want to stay lost.