When will it End?

I went to therapy again last night and

Oh look!

yet another way in which

I am fucked up.




How many more ways

am I going find?


I know I said I want to get better,

but I had no idea,

how many wounds there are,

how painful it is,

how long it would drag on,

this business of becoming whole.


So again, I pour the iodine of brutal honesty

on this new

old, crusted wound,

cleansing it of the infection of the past,

giving it air to let it heal.


I am weary;

there is no choice.


Once seen, the sickness cannot be ignored.


I need to just keep on:

keep cleansing,

keep doing the Good Work,

keep putting one foot in front of the other,




Because I know

the only way out

is through.




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