I Used to Write

 

I used to write through the loneliness that seeped beneath my shields though my bed never laid empty and my sheets revealed the haavoc of the night before.

I used to write through the emptiness as I left the bottles empty to imitate my feelings, and let that emptiness be concealed amid words of love that I knew and lost.

I used to write from the insides of broken to pick up the pieces of what I never wanted again to throw them on a page to draw like souls to me.

I used to write the shape, the waves of commotion that often bled through the cracks in my signature.

I used to write what would be felt, though I couldn't feel anything, though fingertips often brushed tightly across my skin, I could only remember him...and words...

I used to write, but words became nothingness and thus I laid lost in my own mind...
But he beckoned me....
Don't be a used to be, and fed me words to rewrite what I tried to erase and brought me to stand to face what I had become...
My reflection mouths "I used to write..."
And she cries as I answer "I'm still writing...him."