It hit me like a slap in the face


It hit me like a slap in the face

Knees buckled

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

They’re dead.

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

Hide it





And me: in the center

Still standing


World spinning

Speed unforgiving

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?



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