Picking a Wound

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Picking a Wound

My flesh is raw, open, sore, red. It hurts. I want the pain to stop, but it’s new. I can feel the place where it struck me…

HARD.

FAST.

The words

they burn

my

skin.

I want to turn away. I want to let it heal. I want it to all be over and done with and gone. Instead I stare into the raw open wound. It’s surging with pain.

I can’t stop it I can’t stop it I can’t s    t    o p  it   s   t  o p  t   h  e    pain.

Your words are burned into my skin.

Your words sting.

They hurt.

They burn.

They burn.

Stop.

Don’t.

Let me heal.

I want to heal.

I want to be new again.

I don’t want to feel anymore.

You know me.

You said you loved me.

You said you would be there.

And now you’re going away.

Gone

Hurt

Gone

Sting

Gone

Surging

Pain

Will you ever come back?

Will you ever bandage the words/wound?

Heal.

Time.

Heal.

Loss.

Heal.

Pain.

Heal.

Growth.

Pain.

Love.

Words.

Words.

Words.

Wounded.

Words.

By | 2014-10-25T02:33:18+00:00 October 25th, 2014|Categories: Uncategorized|1 Comment

One Comment

  1. Cheantelle J October 26, 2014 at 5:47 pm - Reply

    This is beautiful, elegant, and unapologetic. Poetry is such a beautiful glimpse of the soul. Thank you for sharing!

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