I am wounded, and yet not bleeding
Wounded by the days which pass in sorrow,
by the moments that drift in pain.
The sun is my enemy,
blinding me to others,
Binding me to solitude,
Enforced by the chaos of fear, conditioning, and bile.

I am wounded, lame, and broken.
Mind bound by mortal loss,
A bloodless Coup d’état of the brain
Chilled by unlove, and hastened to tragedy.
Time is my enemy,
Worth more dead,
Then ever alive,
A corpse drudging down stairs, and up, now rotting.

I am wounded, gifted, and foolish.
Heart shattered on love’s anvil.
Wounded by barriers and spikes of distrust,
By resentment and misfortune.
I am my enemy,
Holding my soul naked,
In shaking hands,
To be crushed by the heartless act of another.

I am wounded, and wounding others
A wolf in a trap turned violent.
Wounding through acts of neglect,
By hiding from pain and fear.
I must surrender,
Give up despair,
And embrace hope,
Or the wounds will never heal — forever.