Bruised

UntitledThis morning I stood before a full length mirror and looked at the losing and the loss and the gone.

My chest is bruised the complexions of autumn. My groin is bruised the stains of a vineyard. My foot bleeds the rest of the ripened and the rotted. I rebandaged myself and tried not to cry.

I can’t take the loss. My soul is fragile. My courage is brittle. In my past I’d cocoon and wait to heal my hope.

Today I considered the similar of cocoon and casket. Both are Kafkaesque. The became differs. The was does not.

 

(Photo courtesy of medicalnewstoday.com)

About Mark R. Trost

Writer. Editor. Consultant.
This entry was posted in Health and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Bruised

  1. Laurel Siena says:

    Yes. Exactly this.

    Liked by 1 person

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