Punches and slashes
Blood fleshy wounds
Obviously seen
Thankfully curable
Such is the open wound

Yet deeply seated
And quietly throbbing
Constantly pulsating
Aching in the darkness
Are the hidden wounds

The injured and all
Know of the fleshy wound
Horror and dismay
Sympathies abundant

So unfair and opposite
As the more painful invisible wound
Is known to none
Sometimes not even the victim

Buried below
All the layers that hide
Dormant and dangerous
Brewing to erupt

No healing possible
‘Til painfully peeled
Layer off layer
To expose and feel

Excruciating and voluntary
Only the brave can attempt
No infantry can protect
And lonesome is the quest

Not knowing the magnitude
No knowing of balms
Unbearable to share
So left alone in despair

The gloom so dark
The weight so heavy
What recourse is left
Than to crumble and fall

Yet the urge to survive
With the need to thrive
Any reprieve from within
Begins the mighty climb

So open those wounds
And scream and fight
‘Worthy am I’
‘Survivor am l’

Acknowledge the wound
Dissect the making
Denounce the pain
Throw off the shackles

Freed from the vice grip
Having conquered the trials
Release your greatness
And rise in your flight