Actuality and Angst #12

There’s the kind of hurt that you keep inside you thinking, hoping that it heals and then there’s another that you try to let everyone know about because you didn’t the first time and now you feel like, maybe, this way might actually work.


It has been eighty seven days
And I’m still screaming about the pain
The ache in my waist
Is from all that time I’ve spent
Trying to scrub through the blood stain
You left on the bottom left corner of the
lilliput plant perched on my porch
I’ve ran through alleys and sat through
Gutters and trodden every gorge
I’ve looked for lives that had ears to offer
And erstwhile mellow eyes that could house
My past that continues to sit
On the lap of my present
Shaped almost broken
Like a moon crescent
Still screaming, i wonder when this might end
And if in the process of bleeding
I did anyone offend.


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