proverbial hells attached to the memory like scars on the skin.
exonerating the agony you put me through is out of question.
you yanked my emotions into a dingy ebbys and all I can resort to for comfort is the mature whiskey you left by the bedside.
i relish the coziness each sip softly showers all over my skeletal frame,
diffusing itself into every particle of my withered derm and at once,
a profusion of memories agilely inhabit my conscious mind,
and with every sip,
something akin to healing cuffs my soul,
rubs itself into my wounded heart
and every memory of you in my head fades out
and slowly
as I pleasantly fall drowsy
and hold on to hopes that a golden day
will rise with the sun tomorrow
for my light-headed self to no longer reminisce your destructive touch,
for my soul to be boxed not in sombre.