Pen glides along the paper in an effort to pour out the soul's sorrows
Each word a balm to heal a scar embedded so deeply upon my person
Twisting & turning as the surgery moves forward without an ounce of anesthetic
I embrace the pain & pray that the extracation of memories clears a place for new hope to grow
Escape becomes more imminent even as old wounds heal closed
You call it poetry, I call it surgery of the soul