you loosen the binding straps
and lay out your heart, exposed
to bleed in the bedtime air.
let each scar be a syllable.
let each wound be a word in exchange for a hurt,
a victorious phrase
swaddled by the page
while the pain becomes ink
dry, and a bit farther away
until sob becomes sigh, and then sleep.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
you loosen the binding straps
and lay out your heart, exposed
to bleed in the bedtime air.
let each scar be a syllable.
let each wound be a word in exchange for a hurt,
a victorious phrase
swaddled by the page
while the pain becomes ink
dry, and a bit farther away
until sob becomes sigh, and then sleep.
This was written so long ago that I forgot why I wrote it and the specific moment when it was written.