Hardly Bleeding
you enter:
long-lost memory.
i still fear
your sharp fingers.
i race through black forest
in ballet flats.
glass shards
puncture my feet.
perched on a stump
that’s forgotten
being a tree,
i pull the pain out
piece by piece.
notice—
hardly any blood.
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The stump is an excellent metaphor here, showing permanence of damage even as physical damage is currently stopped. Great write!