It hit me like a slap in the face
Breath sucked away with a punch in the gut
Why do my thoughts always return to this without fail?
4 years. Big deal.
By now I should be over it
Deal with it.
But I can’t seem to
They sneak up on me when I least expect it
When I think I’m finally getting better
I’m tired of describing the pain with poetry
Won’t the pain ebb already?
Trees rise, disdainfully looking down
On my crumbled shape below
I’m standing straight
How can they see the massed lump I am inside?
Turn my back
And me: in the center
I need to dull this pain
I seek the warmth
How could I ever wish to escape its bliss?
This pain like the sharp edge of a knife
Can only be wished away
I have grown tired of writing poetry about it
It hasn’t lifted
Will it ever?
Will I ever stand in another land,
Dazed with time and distance,
Having forgotten all but the ghost of the pain?