It's almost a physical burn. As if I flooded an ocean in oil and set it aflame. Skin, I could peel off and observe as if I wasn't myself, because that seems easier than admitting why I'm stuck looking at you, with the fear of promising tomorrow. 

It's almost not enough. All that I could give, and I'd be short. Short of what you need, of what I said, of what it meant when I smiled at you, of what I told you. 

Your eyes tell me something I try so hard to believe. And even if you lie, only then would I have noticed the truth that was shown. I would listen to the words now etched into my mind, but drowned out by the things I told myself, of the the interpretation I came up with. 

I'm sorry, even though an apology isn't what you're looking for. Words mumbled between my teeth, past the insecurity that destroyed what was carefully being crafted in patience and understanding. Would you even believe my apology if you decided to accept it, or would it be words with no weight and empty meaning. 

Ang again, it burns. It suffocates and drowns and snuffs out. Blinding light underneath my flesh; screams, scalding, searing. It hurts and there's nothing I can do about it. 

There's walls and gates and I'm enclosed.