His name was Ed

Ed
blackened heart
domineering thumb
nowhere to breathe, trying times
~ etched ~

Green
a monster
too old to believe?
his existence, living proof
~ ire ~

Me
raised to love
but heart feels deeply
ill-fitted antipathy
~ blunt ~

Health
declines, death,
emotions bland as
salt-free diet, tears restrained
~ guilt ~

Lauren Scott ©
Oddquain poetry form

This post is darker than most of mine, but life isn’t always rosy, so writing about those difficult times when we question our feelings can be therapeutic. Have you found yourself in a similar situation?

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