Pain
I take the world's pain.
Reflexively
Unconsciously
With such great facility
The globe's own personal Giver
Autologous torment on the other hand
Hides in a maze of inaccessibility.
It is hazy, out of focus
Like a distant memory of a past dream
Oh, but external pain
Beckons with a frequency only I am attuned to
It is palpable
Cuts me with sharpness
It draws me like a magnet to the north
I soak it in through every pore
When my body is too full
I stack it on my shoulders
Hunched under the weight
My feet move slowly and deliberately
Don't fall. Don't drop it.
I stay on 2 feet
Yet buildings crumble around me
And within me
Agony bullets ping pong off my organs
Leaving visceral holes,
On ramps for poison to seep into my blood stream
There must be a cure
A way to shield and deflect
And to purge my bones of the venom
But without the weighted blanket of torment
My own bones would be exposed
I couldn't stand the sight of their brittleness
So I continue to cushion them with quilts of despondency.
At least they have something to lean on.
Copyright © Paloma Walker | Year Posted 2022
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