i am terrible
with names
abhorrent
with faces
but i never
forget a rhythm
or a feeling
the words
may escape me
but the scars
have a unique
texture as i
run phantom
fingers over
the tender spots
similar to
the fireworks
of synesthesia
that explode when
i close my eyes
nebulous bursts
of raw emotion
staggering and
harshly beautiful
in the candlelight
encased in
rivulets of wax
behind iron banded
doors in my mind
where the line
between vulnerable
and masochistic
blur sublimely
in painblossoms
of acceptance
where every single
feeling is embraced
as names and faces
have long faded away