the beginning of the end
the battles half won and half lost
the people i fight with are my friends now
we know what haunts us
what taunts us and yet,
we strike on one and the other.
the gashes on my skin
they begin to heal when
it burns the most
where it burns is the space
where the time moves slowly
the pricking mimicing
every reminder of the impact
that tore the skin
re-living the folk lore
i dont understand the allure of a healing man
what do i regale him for
weakness or strength
for i choose the pain,
for a purpose.
for the slow burn,
for the reminder of the beginning.