I can still feel him pacin my skull
cold crawlin under the sheets
I wake with my jaw locked
fingers achin from clenched fists
heart stutterin as it remembers his hands
his breath still hangin in the air
that old familiar weight
pressin on my chest
remindin me what I came from
the mirror shifts
and for a second it’s his face
his voice in my head
callin me son
like I’m a curse
that he forgot to end
Rated for Everyone
Categories:
Poetrythe dead calls me son
Bookmark
Copyright @ All rights reserved









Damn
I still see my mother when I look in the mirror and all the times everyone said that I look like her. I don’t know if that ever goes away, what we see and hear.
Phenomenal ink.
guess it doesn’t. thanks
You’re welcome
Long hard breath I let out reading this. Intense and sad.
yeah…
This feels like you wrote it from a cage.
Like feeling trapped and the only way to get some freedom from it was to write.
Writing for some is for pleasure, for others it is a must.
Intense write!✍️
definitely a must. appreciate your thoughts.
Powerfully penned, 253. This has got layers my friend, Excellent write. Appreciate you.
Damian
thanks