The Medicine

Don’t look at me like that.
I know the Fates have done their damage.
They apologized and said that there was nothing they could do.
Except slash and burn and cut and carve and make everything go up in smoke.
My parents have taught me that resentment is poison.
I don’t know when I became venomous.
And antidotes are expensive.

I know that everything I say sounds the same now.
Honestly, I don’t care much for differences today.

You and I.
We’re alike.
We burn old letters and smile when their words burn our souls.

Don’t look at me like that.
I know what the doctors said.
They apologized and said that here was nothing they could do.
And I don’t care because I don’t have space for new scars anyway.

After I burn your last letter,
I’ll watch us go up in smoke,
and hope the needle they just put in my arm is for making the poison disappear.

But antidotes are expensive. And time and money ran out last week.

~

This is an old poem.
It’s one of things I don’t know why I wrote.

I would like to thank anyone who read this post. I hope you liked it.

Love,
Until We Meet Again.

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