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.