My chest aches—though truly, it’s my heart.
That’s how much it hurts.
Each day lived empty.
No riches, no narcotic can fill this void.
Once numb, lost in the fog of forgetting,
I remember everything again,
like a CD stuck on repeat.
Time flies too fast—
I witness how a flower, once small,
blossoms into beauty.
But where do I pour my sentiment?
© Boriifromthebronx