my skin is raw,
and so my hands
hide deep in my pockets.
dont tug at my arms at my arms anymore.

i'd reached out and touched
the heart, of the fire,
to heal the freezing cold,
from which i arose.

now the cold sores,
which never heal
live side by side, with singed pink
darkness and silence and a little peace ... thats all that helps those parts of me

i come from a different place
u dont know, cant know, or see or imagine
the dreams, the nightmares,
the joys, the fears

having come all this way
there are many dragons i have slayed
the skeletons drag a path
behind me everyday

and their ghosts wail
when i close my eyes
and ur laughter stops
distractions? yes.

my bloody, hands
with festering wounds
and putrid decay, barely hidden, in the folds of bright cloth
of my remaining good parts, hold the golden goose ...

dont pull at my arms any more.

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