Where are you?

Oak leaves for hands and wrists of glass
Grasping and clawing for something alive
Rocks for eyes in a blackened gnarly head
A rotting heart that doesn't beat
Inside of a distended heavy chest of lead

Tides that reach beyond their length
They move with all their lunar strength
Beach flooding slowly, filling every pore
In and out, the water inexorably flows
As the sea waved to the darkening shore

Chipping away in a grey quarry of steel
Fruitless endeavors, the turn of a wheel
Sparks shower around with every blow
Buring brightly for a single instant
Lighting up the sky, putting on a show

Pixies dancing in an earthy rich grove
Singing and laughing merrily as they move
Heeded by none the shadows that lurk afar
The firelight that dances with them
As they move and sway under the stars

Lonely hearts, sitting alone in the window
Ashes mar faces in the moonlit glow
Burned out and replaced with tears
The fireplace, cold dead and barren
Nothing left now but uncertainty and fear

Pain

Pain is a funny thing. In 7 years you would think I would have moved on, and some days I have, but on others all it takes is that certain smell, or that joke, or that song and I'm suddenly right back there, aching as if I have a hole in my chest. Like I'm missing out on something so amazing if I could only get back there everything would be okay.

I've often thought about those days. I've often thought what if and how my experiences have changed me into who I am today. Some days I just feel broken. I have been brought to tears before, but you get to a point where even though you still want to cry, you realize there's just no point. Tears don't accomplish anything. So you move on. But that pain is still there.

I remember growing up being told, every trauma has a grieving period. And I thought, in my young naivete, that all you had to do was let it all out. Make sure you grieved, and then life would get back to normal, you could forget about the pain.

I was wrong. Your pain never goes away. You carry it for the rest of your life. Like a phantom limb, hanging from your shoulders. You just sort of..learn to deal with it. Push it into the furthest corner of your mind for a few hours, a few days, a week. And then when it comes out to breath, right when you thought it was gone for good, you air it out for a while, feeling morose until you put it back into it's box for another day.

Today I'm airing it out. Savoring it almost. Like a fine wine that's been left to age. It hurts.