Now It Hurts

I feel it now

like a phantom hand

blown off at war

and it is gripping at things

just out of reach

and the bony spectral fingers

ripped of the skin and flesh

can’t make contact

with the tangible world.

 

It’s not there.

I cannot touch with this hand

that is no longer mine.

 

Several days after

the bruises start to show

rising to the skin’s surface

forming ghostly images

all over my body.

 

I cough blood,

I piss it out

as if my body

is trying to rid itself

of the poison

that runs through me;

a toxin so strong

it clouds my thoughts

and slows down each day

almost to a standstill.

 

I feel it now.

Now it hurts.

Like an explosive charge

set to days after

the moment,

I first thought

I could walk away unscathed

and then it detonates

and I am ripped to shreds.

 

Now I feel it.

Now it hurts.

And now I can begin

to live again

past the shell-shock

and the numbness

of the trauma.

 

Now I know where it hurts,

I know where to heal

and how.

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