I let shit fester
And I dwell on things that hurt my heart
Like a broken wound
That I tear open and let bleed
Over and over again
I can wipe the blood away
But the cut remains
Still aching, slowly infecting me
So I break myself down
Like an unwanted box
I’m empty on the inside and out
Tear me apart
Made up of reused pieces
Damaged lungs and a broken heart
Even though it still hurts
I will rip off the scab
To re-open the wounds
Because that’s all that I know
So I will let shit fester
And I will dwell on things that hurt my heart
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Thoughts of a Wandering Heart 
Pain when writing is therapeutic.
Therapeutic in writing is pain and relief.
Awesome poem. 🙂
Say, you should check out my last two poems I posted. You will be amazed.
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Thanks Charlie. I have stopped by and read them, very good as always. 🙂
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Thanks…Did you just read the one poem I just posted up?
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yes sir I did. 🙂 Very fun and interesting to read as always
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it is amazing how we do this isn’t it? We know it, but still do it. Why do you suppose that is?
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complacency I guess, for me it is at least. It’s easier to deal with the repercussions that I already know, than to deal with new ones.
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