Wound

not quite stabbed,
a knife glides across my tender back...
my flesh responds,
not right away with pain,
for it takes time for cuts to burn and sting.

scars from many other wounds
linger close nearby...
resting on my back behind me...
a place I cannot reach,
nor grasp to offer balm so well...
a place left helpless
for what seems another's balm to find.

I now feel what's warm and wet beneath my blouse,
once white...
is now a darkened shade of red...
red as the passion of a fresh picked rose,
though tinged with thorns with which to stab,
and I'm alone...

I must continue on the path life takes me...
the sting of pain upon my back I'm used to though...
still seeking mend,
much seeking mend,
though mend doesn't always show.

so red continues in its faithful flow,
and legs feel weak...
my steps more careful than before.
legs not knowing what they've left to carry...
my bleeding leaves me dizzy...
bleeding out more than what would inward glow.

my eyes turn upward with a question,
to the only One whose left to call;
"must this hemorrhaging continue?"
"No, the hemorrhage never was at all...
In heaven lies your answer dear,
the only balm you'll ever need.
Now carry on child,
do not tarry,
and go be the mend you seek."

Mandy, 2007.

This is not a poem about suicide or anything like that. It is from  a really vivid dream about certain painful events and overcoming them.