enabling my blurred vision to gain clarity, or at least dare the next step.
My arms stretch out to feel the inner surface.
Carefully, I explore the bumps and cuts and incisions around me,
my hands sensing scars and fresh gashes. Not caused by a single attack;
but built by a series of strikes and assaults
and condemnations in a lifetime and may even before.
I am inside my wound, my three-dimensional painting, unique and individual,
bearing the overripe fruits of generational hardship, creative additions just crafted today.
I feel the stings in my fingertips as they slightly light up by me touching the surface.
I define different colors: Ruby red for betrayal, emerald green for despair,
ivory for the death of a loved one.
I am performing magic as I design rainbows on the inner walls
while my fingers play on the obstacles like musical hands play on a piano.
This is the moment when sound pays a visit. Uninvited.
Distant screams, howling, piercing cries, people barking, ear-splitting shrills,
which make me rush my hands up to close up my ears. Silence. Almost.
I still can hear my tears dropping off my cheeks sounding like little,
pretty bells hitting the ground. I look down. Wherever they touch,
the surface changes as rain would caress soil. Soothing, somewhat nourishing.