Letting Go

The healing couldn’t have taken long, but the agony stretched it afar.

Made its residues prominent, evident, like sickening tar.


The scars were a mere reminder that the memory is here to stay,

The mind scoffed, all the traumatising flashbacks couldn’t have disappeared anyway.


How do you push back thoughts that become a part of your very existence?

For they don’t reason with your identity even if you manage a secure distance.


How are you expected to flip your hair and bear pain far-fetched?

What you wish to be elusive despairingly becomes etched.


The path of healing is coarse with crevices throughout

Every stone in the way compels you to take a different route


Yet you tread on, feeling heavier with every step

While the wicked brain takes you back to all that’s gone and all you’ve left.

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