The Gentle Showers of my Agony

My skin is soft from the gentle showers of my agony.

Perplexed; my thoughts run to the soothing corners of my mind. Why must I suffer from your flaming tongue? With insidious intent, you tear the foundation from my withered grasp. A swallowed bronze key was nothing against a battering ram.

No broken promises did I speak, yet you provide these stark flaws for my truth. Did I ever say my image was perfection? My greying temples meet with wrinkles forged in time. I do not claim to hold a golden wisdom but what I speak could be laced with silver. 

Why must I withstand a hurricane of daggers? I slapped your hand, so you break my bones. Don’t swallow time with hate in your belly. These wasted minutes slip through flame; turned to ashen memories. Could you not have charmed your words to singe a little less?

My skin is soft from the gentle showers of my agony.