My Mortal Wound
Traitor thoughts return
again and again
to the blackened pool
that has become breeding ground
for my memories of you.
Like fingertips to a deep gash
testing for tenderness,
waiting for healing,
impatiently scratching at scabs and scars.
Loosing angry blood
from freshly clawed skin;
pricking nettles of pain
into my defeated heart.
Ripe with infection; never to heal
you have become
...my mortal wound.
Copyright © Kelly Mcdonald | Year Posted 2006
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