We are all just walking wounded.
Nursing these unhealing sores
that open to our deepest sorrow.
Hiding our wounds.
Living as though they do not fester.
Does it kill you, too
To remember how you loathed your innocence
While you still had it?
Step into line.
Join the ranks
who loved so hard
lost so much.
and at night read wordy novels until your eyes drift shut
only because
to allow the flood of memories
in the silence of the night
would be too sad.
