New Poetry Wednesday: Bandage


afraid of the empty places
between here and there
fill them up with things
pretend to have a need
but end up eating my sanity
as they multiply without assistance
afraid to rip off the bandage for fear
of unknown hemorrhaging
of unknown means of dying
will I rise up, rise up again
a phoenix from ash
or pulled down under the waves
driven by fatigue and madness
as I pick at the wounds
at the objects choking empty spaces
pulling up tiny bandage edges
hope for a sign that all will be okay
that it will not end with a white sea
trapping me to an unseen abyss
waiting, waiting like the Grim

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