Sometimes, in the midst of celebrations
I find myself bleeding.
Long pent-up emotions bubble, pour,
seep to the surface of the skin.
It is only when I see the blood that
I realize I'm in pain,
That I've been wounded
Some scrape while walking
Wome unknown cut from paper or
A carelessly worded comment.
A lonesome wound - the unreflected journey.
How did I get that?
How did I get here?
1 comment:
I like this one. You're a pretty good poet, I'd say.
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