You told me you were hurt
And I envied your simplicity
Because I was not hurt.
I was every shade of red and purple
bloodied bruised battered blasted against your skin kind of aching.
A pain where breathing feels like raking knives down my ribcage
and for a moment I wondered if the inside of my skull was carved by your demons
because that is what I felt pressing pushing piercing my brain.
This pain is crashing and colliding cymbals, violin strings that were never tuned trying to force music out.
I wanted to laugh at the idea of simply hurting.