Bitter

That metallic bite at the crook of my throat still lingers
but it’s not bitter now.
The skin on my wrists and cheeks has thickened 
but it’s softer than a year ago. 
The goodbyes never said still hang in the air
but the demon’s voice is mute. 
Nowadays when I wake up the the morning I see the sunrise
rather than the struggle. 

By Kimberly Jamison 

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