Gone, never to return.
Taken, stolen.
Once alive, now dead.
In the soul of the living there is a gaping hole.
A piece of them has been taken too.
A piece of them is dead too.
Maybe an accident.
Maybe by choice.
It matters not.
They are no longer here.
Taken away way too soon.
The soul ache is just as great either way.
The answer to "Why?" does not exist.
Is of no consequence.
It matters not.
That constant will not remain.
And every year comes that painful reminder.
They are no longer here.
They are long gone.
Left behind.
Those wounds just never really heal.
Cauterized, but no scar is there.
Those wounds still weep.
A longing for them remains.
Tears are of no solace.
They just burn.
The body is racked with sorrow and suffering.
No one knows, on one understands, no one sees.
Still the living must live.
As much as it hurts.
As hard it is.
Put on the mask that conceals the suffering.
Cry tears in the rain, so no one sees.
Scream into one's pillow at night.
Letting no one hear.
Dead flowers left behind by well wishers offer
  no comfort.
Those flowers soon wither and die.
Reminding of the hole inside.
Like pouring salt on the still open wound.
I might as well be dead also.
Because that's how I feel anyway.
The hurt and pain never go away.
Scorched memories are still there.
Haunting me.
Haunting me.


1 comment:

  1. Mostly about the PTSD that often follows a sudden death, whether it be by accident or by a choice.


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