Loud memories dead and half made, playing around in my head
insidiously stamp out my hard fought silence.
First- aid? I can only breathe in and out to patch my cracked peace, yet
every time it ends up being this blur.
It is only when I slow down the murky moments that
seconds of clarity are bestowed upon me by myself.
Silence hard won lets my eyes stray over and around
until they come to rest on the bandages wrapping my hands,
fiddling around with my wounds punches me with some more clarity.
Finest and darkest moments of a person’s life are re-played,
earnestly they come on his death-bed granting escape
rightly earned then, but not a damn moment before!
It is not time for you yet, pulsing parts of me remind since I
needed only those few sharp moments anyway to
grin and bear it, and walk off before my blood can pool.
Note - Read the first letter of every line. (It's called an acrostic, a neat idea I got from StoryBraniac's poem Heartbreak)