Battle Fatigue

Battle Fatigue

Honoring righteous anger.

Not mean little sprites,

Chironic knights protecting me.

Cradling me so sweetly.

"Oh, no, dear, never forgive, never forget."

Torture is no way to say you're sorry.

 

Love whispered to me

in dreamlike memory

told me tales

told me lies.

I told myself those stories

whispering in the night

bereft of sleep.

I told myself of soft surrender.

Of gentle caressing days

dappled in sunlight,

lusty heat-soaked revelry

sharing secrets

so poignant, so intense.

The anger

burns me through

each synapse,

each myelin sheathe

blood, guts, lungs, heart.

Viral penetration, consuming

strength, vitality, duration.

I am languid and torn.

From time to time I rally

to fight my own tears,

my own mind,

my own field of battle.

 

No one comes forth for me

to offer my surrender.

Battle weary,

I can no longer breathe.

The anger breathes for me.

Gently wrapping me in 

blankets,

singing me a battle song

urging me to take respite

as it soothingly scrapes off

the scabs

refreshing my wounds.