Trauma Blind

This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.

I do not revisit
the times I have bled 
or near-severed fingers,
watched blood flow
and saw bone gleam,
exposed for a moment,
to the air we all breathe.

I see no wounds reopen,
no reels of gore
in technicolor loops.
No rumination.
No grinding of teeth.

Visions that make you tremble,
again and forever,
of blood spilling crimson;
wet paint on the walls inside you.
These visions escape me.

The dark is all I see.
I remain unhaunted
for lack of inner sight.

I only bleed once from each wound,
and the scars remain visible.

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Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.

—Alex

My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.

Glimpses at the Dark