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You minister to my regret
And clean away the smog; my breath
As it clicks and catches through my lungs
You dig the dirt from blood and bones. 

I weep with relief at the pain you leave
The hissing release of the burning-disease
My aching Heart yells! It screams! It smolders
Let me go on let me wander no longer

Weed up the burrows that root in my flesh
Tear out the system of feelings I’ve kept
Let me be clean again or let me be dead


re-apply the healing
I’ve clawed off time and again

Anyway

Who spits molten lead as I?

Whose shivers leave stone teeth and staring eyes

Who bites the blood into prose and parade

Who paints the bruise into shades that don’t fade

Who lets the lightning in to translate the thunder

Who breathes in the glass dust to exhale the wonder

Who faces the fire to transcribe the burns

Who worries the lion to feel its great fur

Who walks under currents to see the sea play

Who jumps in the lava to rescue the clay

Who pines to feel pain just to write in this way?

Thank God, Myself gets to come along

Or the poet in my brain wouldn’t stay. 

I am sorry

For that time I crushed you down

When you were just trying to help;

I was too concerned with me and Flattery:

My will became my pride, and

I looked down at you, a moment that seizes my heart with pain

To this day. 

You wanted nothing more than to make me proud and help me out

And I shut you down. 

I am gross and a coward. And my pain is pronounced

Forgive me.