The scars continue,
The phantom pain,
The wounds unhealing, discoloured and broken inside.
The wounds holding back healing.
The storm in the wound,
A reminder of the pain, the hurt.
The lost part of you.
Unable to heal, even as you try.
The ongoing reminder,
Of an old wound gone past,
The remnants remain.
The chains to the memory.
Association of pain, even after it faded.
Hating the chains to the wound.
The crime committed against me.
The wounds on me,
The wounds inside,
The wounds of me.
Those that run so deep,
Internalised into my being;
Poisoning me from the inside,
The heavy blood through my veins
Heavy thoughts, breathing and heart.
Running, within my mind.
Spinning around my thoughts.
Wanting a fix, wanting to repair,
The broken mind.
To escape the reminders,
The paralysis of my broken wound.
Taking tentative steps,
Collapsing at the weight of my mind.
The wounds that drag me down,
Chain me to the floor,
The abyss of my tartarus.
These old wounds.
Tearing at the chains that hold me, confine me.
Roaring in rage.
Into the dying light.
Through the pain, memories and chains.
My voice heard,
An echo in darkness.
Broken, beaten and belligerent.
Battering the prison,
Ripping free of my wounds.
Laughing as I wrestle freedom…
Wrestle my world…
From these old wounds.
Just been thinking about old wounds, how to feel, how I may fall again. How to avoid it. But worst of all. How old wounds make me reluctant for anything that may produce new wounds. Fills me with rage and confusion. Will go on. Continue to distract myself, until I can find an answer, work out a solution. This is the song I was listening to on repeat when writing this.