Damaged Goods

A Poem by Darkling

Curled up with your jacket, it’s as close to home as I can remember and my nose fills comforting smells of a fading golden hour as I clutch it to my chest.
I walk this house a ghost, a mere fraction of who I was. Clutching a 7 pound angel in front of my ribs as if I could block the mess where my heart resides from view. The skin covered in festering scratches and incisions, the area around swollen and bruised from the beatings I’ve taken. Deeper within, if one dared to look, you’d find my aorta cavity empty and hollow. All I feel is phantom pain from a heart gone missing, where I once found joy, only sadness. The arms I found solace and comfort in, now turn from me and reject me. In my brokenness the one whom I should have shielded and protected, became my shield instead, taking the brunt of my frustrations. Not a scratch will he bear on his precious body, but I fear damage I bring the soul. Eternally I will say my Hail Marys and beg for penance in hopes any damage I may have caused heals without a scar to reflect upon.