The incessant twang of complexity against my ribs Accompanies the unwanted phantom touch on my hips But the gentle caress of healing only barely brushes my lips This is a beginning, but it feels like an ending with no postscripts
The things I used to find comfort in are futile Against the battering of emptiness against my chest; it's brutal But physically, I'm intact. Selfishly, I'd feel better if it was gruesome However, only my mind is in disarray, if I'm being truthful
Do you know what it feels like? Sometimes it feels dreamlike More aptly nightmarish, but lifelike A distant reality, objective, almost businesslike
It feels like a sordid, shameful affair Although I played no part in the cause of my despair I am the one who has to deal with it, so I send up a prayer My soul hopes for speedy repairs