Painful Trifling and the Soul’s Death (PTSD)

No matter our strength,
No matter our endurance,
There will always come moments
When we break-
When we are too tired from all we’ve given
To remember how to take-
To remember how to wake,
And our eyes water the skin that covers up the empty space inside,
And our minds convince us that our souls are dried,
That our hearts have been fried,
That our purposes have died;

Am I consuming too much space,
Is that why you needed to get inside?
Or did you think I had something to hide,
Like this body that you shamed after having your fun?
I’m sorry for breathing this air
That was clearly meant for you;

I’m sorry this space cannot be filled
With that naked woman on the screen,
But go ahead and try to pretend with me;
I’m sorry that I have to fill in to substitute
While you fill inside;
I’m sorry for asking you to stop;
I clearly must exist too much;
How dare I think that I deserve anything better than your hands in memorable places;

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