Months back,
the arm that could aim a throw,
with the quickest of jabs.

Lays near the chest,
dressed in white.

Numb and tight muscle tingling and rebuff pain.

Hoping the burn that red the skin to calm.

Waiting is a demon,
in the sweetest way to speak,
in a way,
to call it.

that would mean,
healing would let it passed.

The pain will fade.

And soon,
the chance to remove,
that wrap.

Like closing to freedom.

Far from than,
the wrap remains,
dealing with waiting,
a pain,
but a sign sadly,
meaning we are growing.

Lame as it sounds,
but that’s how it is.


Mending the pain,
until it finally stops,
and everything goes back to normal.

Normal of whatever that could be.

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