Your pain will stay
In the eyes, in your gait
You will embark on never-ending search
You will be a stranger on well-trodden lanes.

The pain will show in face
Hiding itself from stares like acne scars
A sense of defeat will make a home in you and
It will keep the curtains closed and doors locked.

It will be hard, so hard it would slice you
Through the middle, but no blood will ooze
Only wandering thoughts, wandering feet
An eternal sense of stumbling into chairs and tables.