His Words

Everytime he pushed me
Off the cliffs of sanity
He’d be there to catch me
Before I shattered.

This time
I’m lost in desperation
As stark realisations
Creep out of my esophagus,
They linger in my lungs,
As I feel pressure,
Build in my cheeks,
Behind my eye lids,
Then it burns.

Then I dream
Of that fantasy parallel
Where he would have had an opinion
On the things I’ve written.
What would he have thought
About my progress
As a writer.

Though
We had not personally
Exchanged a word
Prior

Still, his words
Live in my own.

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