If you quell the pain,
prickles remain,
and I feel so detached
from the past,
I could be a stranger
in the memories of danger,
like they burn
a different skin.
I wanna heal
from the thunder squeal,
but my midnight brain
plays the game
“How can we twist imagination’s eye
to warp this picture to terrorize?”
I don’t want to imply
the landscape of my mind
is a battle,
so maybe it’s a council,
passing laws
full of flaws
designed to deliver help
to a sun-blazed steppe:
the compromise to healing isn’t straight,
it wanders and walks in late,
and arguments come slow these days
while old promises lose their praise,
but under the numb
I think
the storm is coming
to cool the sunburnt link
between my past and moving on.
***
get Graveyard of Lullabies here: https://www.amazon.com/Graveyard-Lullabies-Jordyn-Saelor-ebook/dp/B0DB499LN9?ref_=ast_author_mpb
Jordyn Saelor 