Elucidating Questions

Telling the story exposes the wound

Held out for the reaction

Salt or a bandaid

The unlikelihood of sutures

Sometimes you tell the story

And the wound is exposed

And silence follows

And there it sits open to air and dust

Festering

Infected

And the roses are blooming in fall and you give him a look and he say

I fucking told you roses and I will make them

I’m not sure that’s healthy

But it made me smile

Sometimes

They have to interfere because no one is willing to help me here