#253 The wound.

It never closes truly
It only has an opening that’s unruly

The wound that lingers
Even after its cut dwindles

A ghost standing in the corner
A looming shadow rising behind every loner

A test to time that doesn’t exist
A test of continuity that asks to persist

The wound evergreen and lasting
Shapes its ravenous will without ever sating

For it breaks apart from the fiction
That denies its existence

As it lives in a realm of its own
Laughing at our awakening, waiting for a new dawn

And the morning never comes
For it never accounted for that plane to honor its pun.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~