Wounds

 


Wounds, 

They have a way 

Of making you stay,

In a place that you’d rather forget. 


Wounds, 

They heal 

When you no longer feel

Their presence any way. 


Wounds, 

That slowly turn into scars 

Only the flesh, they seemingly mar. 

But what of the damage inside? 


Wounds, 

Are rarely skin deep 

They are portals that seep, 

Pain and remembrance of healing and hell. 


Wounds, 

Inflicted - when and by whom?

A tiny crackle or a resounding boom? 

How effective was the cut to your soul? 


Wounds, 

They are best stitched up and soon 

Before the sun gives way to the moon 

So that your skin (and heart) may be whole… 





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