Waking to the Hurt

Waking to the Hurt

I wake to the hurt–the raw, familiar ache–
It’s quieter now, not the screaming of fists or threats,
But the dull, persistent throb of memory.
The world falls apart, then keeps moving,
And all I’m left with is this pain–
A bruise that never leaves, a song that won’t stop playing.
I buried love long ago,
Covered it with routine, indifference,
Taught myself that feeling was a risk–
A wound that would never close.

Numbness is a shield,
A blanket I learned to wear,
But now it slips,
Now I wake and realize I’m just here–
Hurt again,
Alive again,
Heart thin and tired,
But still beating.

Nights stretch out, long and silent,
I fill them with old habits, old lies,
But the hurt always returns,
Breaks through the walls I built,
Refuses to die.

Every breath is heavy,
Every hope already gone,
The numbness fades, but it takes the light,
And I wake again to the pain–
The only proof I’m still alive,
The only thing that stays.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel whole,
If the ache will ever loosen,
But for now, I just breathe,
Waking to the pain,
Waking to the cost of needing to feel again.

I’m waking to the hurt again,
A heart that’s tired, a life that’s thin.
But numbness only lasts so long–
Now I’m waking to the hurt that’s been here all along.