Hurt

Hurt.

The consumption of liquid poison numbs nothing, return back to the lonely isolation. Watching from afar brings back bitter memories; the impulse to reach out only cripples the mind. The constant reminder of the infraction only drags the knife further down the tatters of the broken organ. How many salty waterworks must one shed to forget the past. the river is flooded and yet the dam gates are open again. The spiral of lies continues to revolve around the illusion of happiness when in truth the agony deepens and the unforgivable lingers. The pardon becomes part of the cause of the hurt, the dirt is smothering the last of the oxygen.  Polluting the last bitter memories of the past life, a past life that was a shade of gold, only an amber remains. A shade of gray now takes place, a stone laying down,  now letting the river of salt tears over run it. A remnant  forsaken and lost now sheds it's layers which were meant to be protection, another illusion of security and whatever love meant. What stands is  a small stone slowly eroding in hopes to become something as great as a mountain. To stand over the world, to overshadow the hurt and pain compressing it,  seeking some sort of mercy and understanding of the elements that brought it down. Impossible. when the stone remains beaten down, and the resurface seems an impossible. The trick will be to make it through, to let the river flood and the cracks welcoming the saltiness that rubs it in. To be the stone and allow the elements swirl around,  eventually the course of erosion will be inevitable. Every great landmark, goes through a course of being beaten and  hurt, coming up and evolving into the wonder of the world.