Rooted Pain

There’s a pain that’s been existing for far too long.
The dates of its creation often shifting.
A pain so often I’ve tried to cut away.
Wash and hang away.
A bottle of pills can’t heal this illness.
Hope carved into my flesh can’t heal this.
No tears can undo.
Not even death can fix this.
Complaining and screams only leave me restless.
A pain so deeply rooted frustration and anger become my only companions.
I have pushed and destroyed and have been left all alone.
There is a root.
Like an art piece carefully placed for me to revisit time and time again.
The same spot to give me that same old feeling.
Familiarity safer than the unknown.
I’ve tried to leave it be.
Leave it where it’s at.
Run away.
Close the door, lock, and hide the key.
I manage to find myself back.
Standing in front of my masterpiece once again.
A look of horror on my face.
Such a meaningless structure that has a hold of me.
I the creator of its power.
There is a rooted pain that has made a mess.
A poison that ruins every ounce of joy that comes in its path.
Every bit of good crumbles along with the hope of making anew.
There is a root.
I heard salt helps with roots.
Like in wounds.
Submerged in salt I’ve often healed many pains.
So I’m going to cut.
Cleanse the pain.
Wash away the dirt.
And fight like hell.
Delete the memories.
There is a pain that no longer has its place in my memories.
There is no beauty in this art piece.
There is no beauty in depression.
There is no beauty in rape.
There is no beauty in lost love.
There is no beauty in suicide.
There is no beauty in suffering.
For beauty lies in freedom.
New life.
Strength to mold something great.
There is a root that needs to be removed.
Starting today.
I will feel no more pain.

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