The Rocks

There are rocks in my throat
small with jagged edges
They are making a game
of churning the food in my stomach
and taunting it to come back up
“None shall pass”
Is what they say to the oxygen molecules
trying to find my lungs
They are begging me not to forget
the feeling of your hands on my skin
They sing songs debating who’s fault it is
as I press my palms to my forearms
throw out anything sharp or pointy
and swallow the sobs
that only remind me of you
“He will come back” Is what they scream
“He will bring a gun and this time
he will finish what he started”
As I turn the lights out at night
There are rocks in my throat
ans they want me to keep hurting
but they don’t know me
or the fire I breathe
when my wounds are ready to heal

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