Me :
Do you remember the cause of the scars?
The ones you buried underneath the,
Pile of happy memories, safely tucked away in your mind,
Do you feel a little broken?,
A little crushed by the weight of these sorrowful tomes,
Did you try to wriggle free, and come back to these heathen homes?


Myself :
The scars have faded now, but still, I feel their ghostly chill,
A shiver down my spine,
A memory I can't leave behind.
So I buried them away, deep beneath each sunny day,
But sometimes they come creeping back,
When I'm alone, and lying in my rack.
I try to find release; but can't find any peace,
So I stay up all night long,
And make a poem, of a mournful song.


I :
Do the songs bring you reprieve?,
When the ghosts break in like thieves.
And your palms turn sweaty from fear,
Do you sorely shed a tear?.
Or bravely hold the pins together,
To keep your mind's stitches in order.
Perhaps you feel a little too weary,
And fail to keep the trauma from making you teary.


Me :
Sometimes, the songs do bring relief,
A moment's solace, a small reprieve.
But sometimes, they only deepen the gloom,
And fill my mind with a sense of doom.
My palms are slick, and my heart is tight,
I fight against a looming fright.
But even in the darkest night,
I cling to hope with all my might.


Myself :
Did I ever tell you?, I too feel a little broken,
So forgive me if I cling to some hoping.
To help me carve out these small tokens,
Of moments devoid of life's bludgeonings.
Mayhaps we all feel a little broken,
And yet not so outspoken,
Of these scars that seem to deepen,
As the hidden trauma wells up from within.




© MyrninAsterSnow