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Poem



The chest, a hollow cavern,
air catching on jagged edges
where a heart used to beat in rhythm.
Now, only echoes of laughter,
ghosts of shared whispers.

Skin, suddenly too thin,
every casual touch a phantom limb,
recalling a warmth that has vanished.
The world, once vibrant, now muted,
as if seen through a rain-streaked window.

Sleep offers no solace,
dreams replay fragments of a lost film,
each scene a fresh stab of recognition.
Waking is a brutal return
to the stark reality of absence.

Words catch in the throat,
unsent messages, unspoken questions
clogging the airways.
Silence screams louder than any argument,
a testament to the chasm that has opened.

Tears, a constant companion,
sometimes a torrent, sometimes a slow seep,
washing away the fragile pretense of normalcy.
Each drop a tangible piece of the pain,
a salt-laced acknowledgment of the wound.

The self, fractured and exposed,
stripped bare of the shared identity.
A raw nerve ending, flinching at every memory,
every familiar place, every shared song.

There is no armor against this kind of exposure.
No shield strong enough to deflect the shards of what was.
Only the slow, agonizing process of rebuilding,
piece by painful piece,
a new self emerging from the wreckage,
scarred but, perhaps, eventually, whole again.

©bfa051125

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