Does this hurt?
Yes.
It hurts like seeing your
Childhood home for the last time.
Nothing stings like your skin catching
Sparks from a bridge burning,
Like resting scalpel on chest and
Sliding to access the heartful of
Thorns, then changing to tools of
Extraction.
What am I doing here, would be
The last words they'd watch me
Think. Now I remain with the
Question, eyes turned to where I'd
Like to see Heaven holding divine
Wisdom and offering it,
Getting nothing but rain in my eyes
And silence.
All homes are temporary.
The smell of lilac floating down
The street will always take me back
To when that bridge connected one heart
Set on forever to one set on for now.
I run the tips of my fingers across
The scar of scalpel; a map from Death to
Life; lying flatline;
Temporary, temporary rest.
I was never meant to stay, I whisper
Into what I know is coming.
Will this hurt?
Yes.
Good.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Does this hurt?
Yes.
It hurts like seeing your
Childhood home for the last time.
Nothing stings like your skin catching
Sparks from a bridge burning,
Like resting scalpel on chest and
Sliding to access the heartful of
Thorns, then changing to tools of
Extraction.
What am I doing here, would be
The last words they'd watch me
Think. Now I remain with the
Question, eyes turned to where I'd
Like to see Heaven holding divine
Wisdom and offering it,
Getting nothing but rain in my eyes
And silence.
All homes are temporary.
The smell of lilac floating down
The street will always take me back
To when that bridge connected one heart
Set on forever to one set on for now.
I run the tips of my fingers across
The scar of scalpel; a map from Death to
Life; lying flatline;
Temporary, temporary rest.
I was never meant to stay, I whisper
Into what I know is coming.
Will this hurt?
Yes.
Good.
