seasoning.

blisters heal

into tougher skin

and I believe

that I am stronger

i am not

it tears

and i bleed

not only my hands

and heels

but also

in my head

i realize

that i am broken

far too late

the scars remain

inside

and out

as i wither

into my winter

and my blood slows

i can only hope

for a fertile spring

so i may bloom

again

in my stasis

i am tortured

from the damage

of what i have done

and the guilt

of what i haven't

the years get

shorter

despite

the days growing

longer

questions asked

never answered

and still

tomorrow

becomes

today

...