Broken Open

Unsent

Burden

(2-20-03)

The shame
Of just being me
Is almost more
Than I can bear.
You don't know
You don't know me.
The things I've done
The things I've done.
I rarely pause
Upon the precipice
But jump
Headlong
Into the dark,
Unseeing eyes
Wide open.
Escaping all
That tears my heart,
Creating
Newer wounds.
Wounds should remain
Unclosed.
Should be
Opened.
Callouses and scabs,
The tender tracks of healing flesh,
No more than nuisance.
A minor irritant
To be picked away,
Tossed aside for
Something small to
Feed on.
I throw this bag of
Flesh and bones to
Those who need
A home.
May you find some comfort in
What burdens me.