What does hurt look like?

Big dilated eyes?

Or a reflection from which you avert them?

Is it the deafening sound of a beating heart?

And you wish it would stop.

Or perhaps the gushing blood in the veins

Which just goes on and on.

Is it the vise around the throat

Of unuttered screams

Or the agony of having to move

When stillness is all you crave?

Is it your lungs doing their bit

When you wish they’d take a break.

Is it having to talk

When you wish you could just stop.

Is it looking but not seeing?

Listening but not registering?

Is it the grey cast of rain

Or the dull haze of a storm?

Is it a heavy dreamless sleep

Or night after night of none?

Is it wanting to run

And having to stay?

Is it having to go from day-to-day,

Struggling till you find a way.

To keep the hurt at bay.

Keep its indelibility

An arms length away.

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