Pain by Astrid

It is pitch black in here, sunless, and I am looking for something I can use as a light, 
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.
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