literature

Fingerprints and Bruises

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Literature Text

You can't feel it, love.
          the pain that grabs onto ribs,
          flutters within a birdcage set too close to delicate vessels
          that carry the heavy memories I don't want.
You can't solve it, dear.
          the fear that settles into creases of gray sidewalk mazes,
          scatters itself like missing puzzle pieces
          begging to be found, but buried beneath the soot.
You can't see it, friend.
          the anguish that stirs behind wide eyes,
          travels back to distant galaxies to find a home
          that's safe from exploding stars and big bang theories.
You can't understand it, stranger.
          the death that lives within my dreams,
          sings me to sleep each night while pulling me under slumbers
          meant for the pure, but corrupts the soul I prayed clean.

You'll never understand why I go back—
          revisiting that place I call fear,
          repeating those words I call shame,
          reliving the death I call lost innocence.



--
2/21/2012


Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
Had a chat with a friend tonight that understands certain things and how no one except those that have experienced it can truly understand, especially when it comes to the need to rehash old details and feelings, just to let the demons out to allow a reprieve of their built up evil. This happened after that chat.
© 2012 - 2024 BeyondJen
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halcyonshores's avatar
Touched beyond words, I am.
It is indeed your soul's voice I hear when I read you
and she glows as pure as a newborn sky. :heart: