Friday, August 6, 2010

The Scar

I stood before you with the fingers on the buttons
Slowly undoing what had been so rigidly done up
I wanted to show you something
That I don't show anyone.
I pulled apart the fabric, so
You could see it.
I told you,
"I need you now."
Instead you rolled up your own sleeves.
Showed me your scar.
Didn't even look at mine.
I've seen it before.
I've seen it before.
I know.
I've seen it before.
I felt scared. Alone.
I wanted to show you.
Something I don't show just anyone.
I reached out to you
From the bottom of this well and
When I caught hold of your hand,
You pulled me down into yours.
I thought I meant something.
It's not me, is it?
It's your idea of me.
The velvet painting.
The life preserver.
The golden calf.
The bronze serpent.
The coat rack.
I doubt it was ever me.
Don't try now. Don't be my way out.
I wanted you to, but
You were too busy with you
To realize the cracks in my veneer.
You can't see this wound.
You had your chance.
I'm not opening the door
The veil
The space-time continuum
The way out.
You'll figure it out alone.

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