Her image surrounds me,
Reminding me of better times.
These icons used to comfort me,
But now they drain my life,
Like apothecary leeches of old.
Now they’re just tics and maggots
Under my skin, itching and burning
Away at what remains of my happiness.
I’ve tried not to remember her,
Tried to forget her and all the pain she caused.
Never have I felt so hurt,
Akin to the damned souls
Of Hades’ possession,
But I fear I can’t pay the Ferryman’s toll,
So I’ll walk on with a tortured heart.
A heart so close to mending,
Held together with the stitching of a lie.
A lie that almost killed me,
For when she left the stitches ripped.
So new they were, it hurt so much.
Like being torn from just stitched flesh,
Leaving angry weeping wounds
That turns to so much scar tissue.
But come barber,
Give me your maggots
And lend me your leeches.
I seek their comfort
And I need their healing.