Damage held heavy in the air. It wasnt a word you used for something pretty. It was for something that was incapable of mending. Something that had been hurt and was not able to bring back to the brink of the same newness. Rather its cracked, smashed, torn, broken, whatever the status, it will always be deemed as damaged.
Damages can hurt. Depending on whats been damaged itself. Something mild like a plate or a cup doesnt affect you as drastically as something that you hold dear to your person. Damages can be on the inside of people. Imperfections that seep out as damaged good from a horid past one may have survived through. Damage is pain but damage can be pure. Being damaged is being human.
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Bleeding isn't Broken
PoetryA process of me and dramatic presences that may have driven me to lack of life.
