pain compounds the problem.


I am so numb lately. I want to feel something. Anything.

And I am so frustrated. So today I wrote about it. Loud.

Frustration looks like slamming your bloody fists
on the hood of the locked car holding your keys hostage.
Not again, you idiot. Now what?
Tastes like chalk, sticking to the roof of your mouth,
an attempt to settle your soul-sick stomach.
Smells like burning. Toast burning for the 507th time
or maybe your whole fucking world is burning to ashes around you. Again.
You can hear it.
Cries echoing through empty hallways
and shouting words and all the swears.

It sounds loud. And forceful. Relentless, even.
Blisters on your fingers. Broken toes.
Important things lost. Loved things missing.
You feel the raw and tender places more vividly
and the pain only compounds the problem.


2 thoughts on “pain compounds the problem.

  1. Soul-sick stomach.
    They should totally give soul-antacids for that. They’d make a fortune.

    Love your words, your passion, your wisdom.

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