(was feeling a bit emo…may have gone over the top)
the mending of a soul
pierce my chest;
a dagger plunging,
ripping at my heart,
but this time my heart it missed;
this time, you’ve cut my soul —
this sad mangled mass,
bruises of indigo, crimson, brown —
signs of damage,
of a rebirth, now bankrupt;
this time, ah…not so lucky;
because this soul bleeds —
and not with ordinary blood
that pours from a heart;
no, this soul’s blood is thick, steamy hot —
its silver-lilac liquid does not flow gently —
it oozes, then sputters and spits.
its rhythm, a frantic pace, afraid,
full-knowing of a wrecking damage;
one which has tipped the scales.
and, when it heals,
if you can call it a healing,
its lilac will turn to indigo,
shaded with dull brown and deepest crimson.
it will take on 32 oz. in weight,
yet it will feel 32 lbs heavier —
because this is how a soul looks and feels,
when a soul tries to heal.
~nan lehnert, 2015