Heartbeats countdown
The flow of time and blood
Both of which I’ve too much on my hands
Contrary to popular belief
Neither heals all wounds
To think otherwise
Is to think too much of time
And too little of wounds
I cannot wash my hands of either
No disinfectant makes me a suitable surgeon
To sew the stitch
Or apply the salve
“Sorry”
Is the worst witch doctor remedy
Snake oil dripped from forked tongues
And venomous fangs
It’s a token subtle serpents hiss to women they betray
We often fail to realize that we are someone’s poison
Their wounds can’t heal
Until we are removed
Blood
Heartbeats
Some wounds still
Neither close nor kill
They leave survivors, not victims
And they live with their damage within them
I’ve been someone’s poison
And to have committed the unforgivable
Is to live your entire life in penance
A sentence dealt by the justice of truth
And what can be destroyed by the truth deserves to be
You can’t bury your past and not also yourself
Leaving an unhidden tombstone for all to see
And shame etched upon your epitaph
You see, wounds that neither close nor kill
Leave one survivor too many
If harm lives to harm another day
The cure and the poison cannot share space
The finest thing I’ve done
Is allow my annihilation
And in small ever-constant doses
I’m am made into my antidote
Neither time nor blood heals all wounds
To think otherwise
Is to think too much of time
And too little of wounds