Saying goodbye to you is like having my
Left arm ripped from my body.
Can I function without it?
Can I go on without it?
But the sheer, excruciating pain
of having it hacked away,
makes the answers irrelevant.
I’m not whole without it,
yet I am expected to act
as if I never lost it.
Even though I am dripping
blood on everything I touch,
I just look the other way, pretending
everything is as white as snow,
not fazed by the crimson stain
that leaks into my life.
Though the wound heals the best it can,
hidden beneath mounds of gauze,
I can’t hide what’s underneath:
dry blood mixed with salty tears.
Thankfully, the lesion is temporary,
I get to feel whole again.
My wounds are kissed until
the blood is washed away,
the tears slide off, and the throbbing
pain is wiped from my memory,
until the next time a part of me
is viciously taken.