Untitled #1

I am safer in the quiet place
I think of you without leaving a trace
I've been watching the fog rotate
I've been watching the crows crow late

Last winter left splinters and
Some trees never grow back neither
Here or there
Prominent gloves are slipped on to lay tenderly
While some summer days only
Pretend to warm the air

I try to stare my feelings into the 
Ground
But actions speak louder than words,
And I'm your most deafening sound

I'm sorry for spilling like an infant that always
Cries as if in constant hurt.
Because I know exercising my demons will never work
And for picking at my scabs
As if they wouldn't release blood and pus
In quick jabs

When you came into my quiet place
Did you know you'd show me your bruises?
Because faces turn in grief
For the leitmotif,
And the crow crows,
For my stuttering aching prose.