Pleasurable Discomfort

 

Wounded, she drove.

Into the night, she sped.

There was no looking back now.

For something had came over her, just moments before.

As she turned the key,

Put down her phone,

And lit her last cigarette,

The painful reality of this distance took hold.

Wiping a tear from her cheek,

She tried to pretend it didn’t matter.

She didn’t care.

It didn’t hurt.

But it did.

And it scared her.

She was here again,

In this space,

Of pleasurable discomfort.

One that time has proven,

Only leads to damage.

And the disappointment,

Of yet another failure.

To be brave, would be her triumph.

But she fears, the risk too great.

For her heart,

Has no more room for stitches.

And her mind no place for doubt.

For once…

She thought,

It would be nice to be the prize,

Instead of the one fighting for it.

And so…

Wounded, she drove.

Into the night, she sped.

Trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

She didn’t care.

It didn’t hurt.

But it does.

 

 

 

 

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