The Writing Wounded

I write of darkness that inhales my light. I pen rays of hope that drown in tides of tears I refuse to share. I quietly ponder my future while burying myself in a past I cannot forgive. I stand, valiantly.  I fall, weary. I crawl, desperately. I fade, vehemently.  

Only to flare again. The words won’t back down. But they refuse to pour out. I ignore the static, tuning my heart to the rhythm of syllables breathed without sound, but in meaningful volume. Blindfolded against the touch of ghosts. Bound in stark colors, streaming. 

I write. I weep (invisibly). I hum untruths of my enemy. I bleed out mortal vulnerabilities. 

©Rediscovered and rewritten 07/2019

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