Slip Stitch

Slice,
a word that terrifies,
a thumb split open
revealing watermelon flesh
disintergrating, the needle
inseminates, birthing a scar
so I can never forget

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Diary Entry 2/4

The start of suffering. The suffocating rising panic. The heartache too heavy to bear. My face distorted in the mirror. Touch burns fingerprints on my raw skin. A longing for that which is lost. Lost. You are no longer. No longer here to wrap my wounds in healing white bandages of comfort. My heavy head leans into a missing shoulder. My back arches for a warmth that has disappeared. I face this dark narrow hallway alone. Reaching for a hand that is too far to reach. My hand falls through decades of pain. It returns to my side empty and cold.