Broken bones
dark, fragmented, an unknown cause
Where’s the why?
What’s the how?
When was the when?
Questions re-surface again and again, blisters of a blind faith lost
with answers that mean little to nothing, because it’s all shit
But where is the truth?
and the truth turns into it
With my back against the wall, I fight a blackened and diseased system
I kick, and I scream for ice
to soothe a bursting violet bruise, an ever so slightly discoloured rip in the delicate epidermis
And I bleed.
thick, tepid and red,
And for the blessed life of me, I just can’t stop . . .
~m
Smoke & Mirrors 
Michael…..
I have absolutely NO idea what to say. I don’t think there is a single thing that would help you at the moment.
Will you accept a hug instead?
Kelly
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I can feel your pain and frustration when I read your writing. It’s understandable considering what you’ve gone through. I’ll be thinking of you and your family.
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I don’t know what’s going on on your side of the world. But know that you have shoulders to lean on.
I’m praying.
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what kel said….quite at a loss here….
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the mysteries of the brain…
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Friends are here for you, if you need us! I am sorry for your pain and the pain of your loved one! I hope you find answers to the many questions…..soon. They need to answer your questions! You’re in our thoughts and prayers.
Lynn and the gang
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I no longer know whom to pray to. But if I did, I’d surely know whom to pray for. Carry on.
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my heart is aching for you…please let me know if there’s anything i can do…
love and much needed peace to you…
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Nothing is ever good enough. How can it be?
Your lines bring up memories about visits to my father in law. His body never looked the same from one visit to the next. Skin drier, bruises, hair not kept enough, toe nails too long and that God forsaken bedsore that never went away no matter how much the nursing staff and doctors told us that it was improving.
A confused mind, not Alzheimer’s but consequences from a major stroke. He used to be screaming in pain yet the doctors didn’t take his wild gestures seriously. “It’s his brain, it’s sending wrong messages”. We didn’t think so. But we weren’t Doctors. And 90% of the time he didn’t make sense, so how do we know which 10% was him. Until they found a tennis ball size gall stone.
It was then I decided to go with my instincts and do the best I can. Still, couldn’t afford to take him home, make sure he gets the care as if he were the only patient on this planet.
You’re right, you can’t stop the bleeding.
Yet, somehow you make it through it. One visit at a time.
He has you, and you have a lot of people who help you carry your weight,it might not feel like it but there’s proof above my comment and I am sure there will be more below.
Love is a conduit, not a well.
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The title fits just so . .
I hope you find peace.
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Mikey,
Sue the bastids! Maybe you can turn the bleeding tables on them? It’d be a nice change of pace, eh? It’s a thought.
((hugs))
Annie
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Man, I do not understand how you can say I am a good writer when I could never write something as deep and as full of emotion as this.
Your words turn into pictures as I read them – If I could take some of the pain and frustration you are feeling – I would.
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