Tuesday, January 5, 2016

It Bleeds

My grief bleeds in an unsteady flow depending on the grip of the tourniquet holding the flow and how large the emotional injury is.

There are those that probably think I pick the scar to make it bleed but the truth is it itches daily and only through itching am I able to cope.

My heart bleeds into my veins and arteries to feed my every cell so that the muscles in my legs can take one foot in front of the other through the marshes of my journey.

My bruises internally bleed due to the compression my supposedly thick skin provides until only deep soul penetration allows the pressure to be released.

Tears that I bleed flow for all of what is lost and the pride I have for him yet there is no tissue is strong enough to hold the oceans of brine they contain.

My thoughts bleed from a persistently perplexed brain that struggles to understand why something like this could happen, much less to me.

There are daydreams and nightmares that bleed from my soul of what could've been, who he would be and his everlasting freedom in Heaven.

My conscientiousness bleeds of worry about what he thinks of how my life is turning out but encourages me to speak to him through the atmosphere.

Living bleeds the heavy load and guilt even when the weight gets lighter and others attempt to assuage my regrets.

Sorrow bleeds for other grieving parents whether the wound is momentarily healed or freshly opened because a trauma of this magnitude is unnecessary and a careless act of Nature.

Songs bleed from my mouth and release feelings that swell with love for my Angel Baby one moment the absolute sorrow the next.

The words that I bleed often aren't consistent, often seemingly clotting to form a scab that bursts open at the moment of closure.

My love for my son continuously bleeds and I let it flow freely paying no mind to the disapproval of others.




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