She Who Is Never Not Broken

This is the story of cracks that itch and swell around the edges, they are a nighttime pestilence

An insomnia riddled with undoing and redoing

Beneath them glows something though, something that is always making stronger the healed cracks

I have been whipped apart by the storm, a tough ride and I never do not know who can see

Is there swelling where strength should be? Has it broken my spine, savaged my mind, taken my spirit?

Has mourning got caught in my through the like a hex whose name is not to utter but to choke

I am golden by the tree

That has shed its leaves like the red planet around me in a circle

AI have stitched myself back together sure but the journey toward endings is already pregnant in beginnings

But I never do not move toward them

I can’t let the night hold me, swaddled, suspended, whole; I let the sleep come on hard

Dreams of war, of running, of hiding in a cellar with fresh wounds to be attended

And know I would never not have it be like this

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