Momentary Respite
one day, you’re going to
choke on the lump that
sits in the hollow of your throat.
you’ll wheeze and struggle to pull
in a breathe and you’ll cough and
you’ll cough in the hope that
you’ll dislodge it and all the while
you know you never will; it’s a
permanent fixture stuck there from
years of pain and sadness and hurt.
it’s an invisible scar that opens
from time to time and bleeds out but
you can’t put a plaster on it. it’s
an open wound that won’t ever close,
a gash in you that stitches won’t heal.
and if, in time, someone sews it shut,
it will only ever be temporary.
choke on the lump that
sits in the hollow of your throat.
you’ll wheeze and struggle to pull
in a breathe and you’ll cough and
you’ll cough in the hope that
you’ll dislodge it and all the while
you know you never will; it’s a
permanent fixture stuck there from
years of pain and sadness and hurt.
it’s an invisible scar that opens
from time to time and bleeds out but
you can’t put a plaster on it. it’s
an open wound that won’t ever close,
a gash in you that stitches won’t heal.
and if, in time, someone sews it shut,
it will only ever be temporary.