Write She Says

, my "other" self
the barely audible whisper
the phantom breeze gliding through my stillness

Why, "I" ask?
Do it, "she" says

It is a blood letting, a cure
But there is no blood here, I plead
It is dry and forlorn
Every last warm drop milked by slender fingers

Leave me, I desire to decay
To shrivel up into the nothingness I feel like
I turn away, my foot poised on the murky banks of oblivion

Her hand, I feel on my shoulder
Gentle, assured, knowing
No, she says, I will not let you go

And she grasps
Onto my listless limbs, dangling waywardly like mad tentacles
With a burly embrace
Carries me, holds my shivering body through the impenetrable hours of night
through the blood letting

In the morning light,
I am here
Where is here?
What is I?

I, a husk
a discarded shell
a cast (empty)
of what was
old and dingy, yet loved

I, a plant
roots unearthed, torn, ripped apart
yet still, in tact
soft and green
sprout

write, she says
and you will bleed it out

The Process

I'm hurting. I'm hurting so much. And, the hurt isn't going away. It isn't subsiding one bit. It is in my face, gnawing at my heart, pounding in my head, oozing through my veins, rattling in my chest, crawling under my skin. It's everywhere. I miss more than I ever imagined possible. Cliche as it is, I never thought it could hurt this much. I try getting angry, but all I find there is love. I desire resentment, but come face to face with forgiveness.

Drop after ceaseless drop of hot tears leave dried up salty tracks on my cheeks. Most of the time I cannot even cry in peace because I feel the need to keep up this charade that I'm OK, that I'm moving on and getting over this. But the truth is, I'm not. I still care. I still feel.

I started to fall in love November 03, 2007. I am still in love. How does a broken heart still love?

How? After you welcome someone into the consecrated depths of your heart and they bulldoze their way out leaving carnage behind, how is it that you manage to still feel something anything?