Broken

This is a response to @Nimila the Inferno's prompt, "let the cut be the center".

Revolting cuts that wish to be soothed….bite

Coagulation becomes myth

Antibiotics lose power

For the wound echoes heartbeats with scared claws

We learn rugged stitches to repair the forsaken

We grow capricious covers to protect the torn wing

Only to hover over, ragged fabric

For Neosporin is nonexistent

To heal the infected

The viscous bloody yuck born from

Gaunt hunger, dismissed eyes, salty weeps

Runs amok

Resurrected infections

Heart withers as the gash pierces

Skin with jagged edges

Stings that sear

Wounds beget wounds

Spillage of pain binds lacerations

Ephemeral summer bonds do not satiate

Winter arrives in non-insulated homes

Early cuts take the head seat at the table

I hurt, you burn

You hurt, I burn

Now what?

Two tormented souls

Cannot be consoled

Let’s take a breath

Hold my hand

Let’s take a stand

Can I feel your hurt?

Can you feel my hurt?

Hear my howl

And I will try

To hear yours

Maybe,

Just maybe,

We can find….

Red tulips from Spring,

a hum from a bird,

a tree with earned rings

that outlived

catastrophic wounds

and nameless wars.

Photo by Javad Esmaeili on Unsplash