No title, on old computer

A rotten silence grows stale at this awkward moment. We sit and stare at everything but each other, preventing another ounce of pain from escaping through a glance. The struggle within us tangles on the outside, and the tears we should cry come out of our mouths aimed at each other. Physical pain could not justify the tempest of emotions burning inside our chests. Unleashing our personal faults to create a putrid vendetta that can exhume the power that we think we must display. Yet I am weak. So lash your double-edged tongue lying heavy in your mouth and slice me to nothing for I will bleed for you, I will die for you, if but our love will grow from memories rather than not at all.