Throbbing was the Worst,
too hurtful to be an itch.
Aching was Unrefreshing,
though at least it held rhythm.
Pine needles prickled my Laughter,
until you referred to it as splinters.
Yes Splinters...
wood shards of broken stems,
Biting into each Movement.
I guess I learned to laugh at pain,
mistake cuts for scratches,
Laughter at the surface of Crying.
YOU ARE READING
Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes
PoetryA Poetry Collection About The Dark Side Of Falling In Love With The Wrong Person And Making Your Way Out Of The Fire...Breath by Breath...Exhaling The Smoke & Breathing In Fresh Air Again. #100poemsin100days challenge beginning August 21- November 2...
