Abrasion

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Khyle Fryer

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I hear the whispers
Of our conversations
Rattle through my head
With ruthless abrasion

And a burning in my chest
A certainty of feelings that should not be expressed
Let the foxes feast
On the cavity that's me, can they be spared at least?

The evocation
Of stillness from your gaze
A little notion
Of the you I can't replace

And the air that I condense
An exhalation of my last breath at your expense
Let the raven speak
As he battles through the flesh that I feed into his beak

Instrumental Break

I hear the whispers
Of our conversations

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