Through Days Of Rain I Eat The Transgressions

Though I really should get up
And move around,
6 months of time have gone by.
And the circulation in my legs
Has been cut off.
This paralysis in me
Prevents me from moving.
So I stay put and gather bed sores
Like a collection of future scars.
If I could prevent the pain that’s part of my future,
I’d reach backwards instead
And erase what’s already been done,
In hopes of sharing some sort of happiness
With the people I’ve loved and lost.

So the decision becomes this:
Do I continue to sit
And risk my health
In what I’ve fooled myself into thinking
That this is my way of honoring the people I’ve lost?
Or do I try, even if it’s for the rest of my life,
To repair myself of all these haunted visions,
And attempt to open myself up
Instead of closing myself in.

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