In Recovery

Forever Alone

It took my last bit of strength to pick up
every last bit of shredded me off the floor.

Left with bloody fragments of a torn heart,
a distorted mind and a shaken psyche.

My existence, Picasso’s The Weeping Woman feel to it.

Feeling awkwardly out of place and lost in my space.

I had to recalibrate; I needed to rebuild.

Now I’m new and different, possibly improved.

A little wiser for the wear; a lot harder around the edges.

More protective of me, not so naive anymore.

Self-preservation took me to new heights.

I’m back and ready.

Don’t ever hurt me again.

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Painful Confusion

2

Shocking upheaval delivered unexpectedly.

The heartache pounded harshly inward.

Internal distress burnt a tortuous red.

A deep cut surrounded by a million small tears.

The stress widened all the wounds.

Anguish and heartbreak followed.

The future, unending and suffering agony.

Sorrow and grief dictated the next steps for survival.

This daedal misery mimicked a slow death.

Love left in a upset heap, an untidy disarray of hurt.

This… this from someone who cherished commitment.