The Wound (poem)

Raw, ripped open, bloody wound
A chance encounter opens a pink scar
Tender, soft, barely healed
The memory is not off too far
Fingers prying, digging deep
Finding each nerve that once sang
Screams of agony are it’s only voice
A wound left writhing in pain
Let the wound heal
Stop opening it fresh
Let the callous form
On the tender pink flesh
Let the blood stop flowing
Emptying a broken heart
And stay away from the open wound
That cries alone in the dark

Heather L. Flood
06.30.17

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