Imprisoned Thoughts

Pain

I thought the life in me had died. I thought happiness had ruined my life. I was a poet that depended on pain. Pain was part of me. I stopped speaking in metaphors. I stopped thinking of an entire book about one tiny dew drop that fell from the tree. But i was happy. I had no pain. But the wound from part of me dying still hurt sometimes. Then it hit me. Knocked me on the cold ground. My body became numb. The icecycle falling from the wheel of my cousin's tricycle was a representation of childhood slowly collapsing. The metaphors were back... and so was the pain.