There is a wound in my body.
I am scared to open my eyes at night.
There are images in my head, in the room,
Images that are the wound, projections
From without within, within without,
I stare at this wound, I carry it now,
I never thought that I would receive this wound.
The wound takes place in my imagination,
It is vivid, you know that, I can imagine anything,
And I go there, to make the images less painful,
To let them fade, to detach my emotions from it,
The trauma, but at night they haunt me and try
To take control, and I feel like I’m running out of light
Because I’ve used it all day long, I didn’t ration it right,
I wasn’t prepared for this plight.
The wound travels through my body and lingers,
It destroys my appetite, it makes me sweat,
It burns up my stomach, and my heart pumps
And pumps like a volcano in my chest, and a piece
Of me is missing, an open wound, within my body,
That I don’t know how to cure yet, how to accept yet,
How to name myself after the loss, how to reestablish myself
After you have been cut off, my flesh and blood.
Croque-Melpomene 