And what a funny thought it is, too.
under my spine, the tiniest voice mumbles that it is
okay
for me to move on.
catharsis at 1800 hours
words ease the ache yet make the sting worse
I learned a long time ago that pain is never as simple as pain
pain is contained within itself, a thousand incarnations of suffering neatly characterized and classified in the pages of my journal
and yet I still find it hard to draw the line between physical and mental anguish unless I am holding the pen
I like the words because they make sense
when the doctors say "disease", I know I can shut my eyes and flip the letters inside out and upside down until they instead spell
"daisies"