Losing someone unexpectedly feels
a little like running your fingertips over a gravel road
at 60 miles per hour.
The pain, intense at first, rips into layer after layer
of skin and nerve endings.
It peels through the top layers
the ones you can see,
and then burns into new ones
before you ever get a chance to see them
Before you really even knew they were there
Eventually the pain stops
Not because the cause of the pain is no more
but because small, jagged, pebbles and rocks
have severed every last nerve ending,
not only your fingers
but your whole hand is numb.
I suppose that is merciful
Because if the pain kept coming, I am sure I would die.
Maybe it’s not as merciful as it seems?
Maybe it’s a farce?
Maybe it’s numb because my hand is dead.
Because I have wrapped it in filthy bandages
and refused to change them.
Maybe the infection is growing
running deep through my veins
poisoning my blood.
Ready to seize my heart any moment.
Maybe I will still die.
Maybe I already am.