Raw this morning
in these hours before dawn.
raw like an open bleeding wound.
It’s dark and cold and I can feel everything.
The streets are deserted
nothing to distract me
no one to be with or charm
vulnerable and in pain but alive
the future is an empty boulevard running east, running west,
north and south.
Reach out and touch the wounded skin.
Feel the red.
Caress the vulnerability.
Hold the pain with an open hand.
Pain and night are windows into the truth.
Leave my hand there.
Nice, the archives from 2011
Adam Archibald says
This was is the poem I was talking about and clearly describing it poorly.