My words finally exhausted,
and my pencil and notebook put away.
The thing I call my heart
finally quit bleeding
and my tears gone and dried up.
I've finally managed to put my knife back.
My matches hidden
and nearly forgotten.
I've come to an almost empty feeling.
But,
this whole ordeal has left me
exhausted and sore.
My legs sting
where I cut myself.
And my wrists hurt
from all the writing.
Everywhere
pricks and burns left from my knife.
And it's not going away.
I can't get comfortable,
and no matter how long I sleep
I'll always be tired.
Because
it's impossible
for a body,
much less mine,
to heal from all this trauma
overnight.
And before
the next night has arrived
more trauma will have insued.
Oct.-12-09
Heart of Ice Die Die Die
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/can-t-heal-that-fast/
