​Not sure if other writers have this habit, but I often scibble things on scraps of paper and when I read the words, sometimes years later, I am not sure if the words are mine, or I have copied them from somewhere.
I found this scibbling today-possibly written by me, possibly not. Apologies in advance to whoever wrote this, if it wasn't me.
The wound feels
Flyblown today
Open
Too long
Lost love
Lingering on
Like the ghost
Pain of an amputated limb
Time now
To greet
What might be
In a new world.