Pain wash through my body

as a rainfall

rushing through muddy roads

during rain season.

Razed to the ground.

Limbs unwilling to raise,

stiff stomach aching in its strain.

My chest

sanctuary of this battered heart

is holding its breath

trying to create stillness

in this vortex

dragging me to the void.

A forehead clogged with thoughts

heaving with tears

from that outburst of grief,

is unable to focus,

too cluttered to discern

what is felt,

what is feared,

what is real.

What do you do

when there is nothing left to do?

How do you cope

when there is no space left for hope?

© María Ortega García

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