The words on the tip of her tongue are like daggers

Gliding through silence, stabbing at past memories,

Slicing open old wounds. It hurts - healing. Ripping

Off scabs and washing your hands in lemon juice,

Sorting through pain to find a new way towards

Pleasure, towards peace.

She whispers quietly in the dark,

Her words like fireflies illuminating a path less

Traveled by. Her hands feel around for something

To hold onto and her feet carry her, freed from midnight

Moods full of discomfort and sorrow. She recovers herself

Through inner reflection and metaphorical language manifesting

In poetry.

The words heal her,

Breathing feels easy again.