Has my trauma changed its form?

A deadly illness, starving-worm

Am I cursed to walk the earth, a

New impossible every morn?

Why can’t I leave the shadows behind? They change

Their shape

And follow me

I hate their voices, despise their smiles

But I can’t stop letting them crawl

All

Over

What can I do

To finally be free?

Someone tell them I’m

Done wandering

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Dream

Bodies in the road

I see them everywhere I go

I cannot escape them in sleep

In fact, there they wait for me.

They walk out among the cars

I close my eyes and scream.

I cannot write any more. I don’t like

Remembering

quiet

Usually, there is cold.

Ice and deftness, dexterity and chill.

But when the slow-deep comes, the fire

Lights in her hands. The warmth spreads

Through her veins

And cradles her heart. It squeezes

Like a vest, like a binding

The current carries her away.

She flickers out for a time

And the warmth

Stays; the tongues of flame

Lighting their own way.