Hurt as I hurt-
as I bleed, I bleed-
and my heart weeps, raw and open,
a wound that will not close.

I ache in places I cannot name,
in shapes I do not understand,
everything too tight, too still, too wrong-
and I keep reaching for something that isn't there.

Will it ever stop?
Will it loosen, soften, end-
or am I meant to stay here,
caught in this endless breaking,
bleeding, bleeding,
and never empty?

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 21st of Haernos, in the year 17 AC.