The Burden of Memory
Arrows lay buried deep in my chest
as remnants of those who fired them.
If I pull them, my flesh will bleed,
seeping out uncontrollably to fill the gap.
These arrows are stuck with me,
but even though they are my company,
they are not my friends.
I barely flinch now when I meet another
who shreds my muscles and pierces my bones
branding me, again, as forsaken.
My body will eventually give out
as my feet release their burden, and I lay
peppered with feathered shafts
like daisies in a field.