The Night I Died / The Night I Came Back【POETRY】

The Night I Died / The Night I Came Back

I never witnessed the blade pierce my skin

Until I pulled it out that night.

Shakespeare only wrote of the stab,

But never the release. I'll ask him, someday.

    I'll ask if he ever pulled the blade

    And released it of heart. It's the blood that hurts best.

    The scar it left in my chest may never even fade.

I checked the night I came back.

Still there.

The day I came back it looked different;

    Titanium white is being poorly distributed on the blank canvas.

In the world of this poem, I undid that coat. It didn't work, anyway.

The new hands that pulled on the rope of resurrection

Should see my wound, too.

Let the new eyes blend into mine

And see our mirror with all its cracks.

Good evening.