This piece took shape after a conversation I had with another writer having his own long dark day of the soul.  Hoping that the wolves have retreated from his door.

Sometimes the wounds

She inflicted on herself

Were administered

With surgical precision

Using a sharp knife

Of bitter self-recrimination

On the long dark nights

Of her soul

She was capable of

Carving hundreds

Of tiny papercuts

On her heart, on her psyche

If the guilt and feelings

Of unworthiness were

Overwhelming  enough

She would then pour

Orange juice on them

For good measure

Leaving her sticky

Seeping blood and citrus

Reassured for the moment

By the exquisite pain

That she must still be alive

Must be real


  1. WoW!!! so powerful dark and intense………….seems ritualistic…..just for the sake of pain…….for maybe……the world can’t deliver even on that…….maybe i am thinking too much…..loved it!! 🙂 🙂


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