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.