This feeling hurts.
Every time I am reminded, I feel a pain in my heart.
A deep, excruciating sensation that makes me want to burst into tears.
This intensity stays burrowed deep inside.
Like a sleeping volcano, the bubbling liquid fire is always at the cusp of erupting.
I long for more, for what was, for what could be.
But I am helpless to the reality.
And so this wound festers and becomes infected.
I scrape away the puss, hoping that some form of antibiotic can cure it.
If only I could be rid of this illness.
This ever relentless contamination of sentiments unrequited.
Maybe lobotomize the section of brain that controls emotion.
How much better I would feel,
If all I felt was blah.
*Prompt is : Blah