my horrible imagination loves
to bring my conscience in
to show me doing horribly
some act that makes me
wince and cringe
within
in thought,
and rip myself
right out my back to reach
in hands, and snap my neck
impulsively
before I can
because I can.
It's usually
just some damn
thing, I thought of
just so bad, so wrong, so mean
to say - I never would! Well
now I can't.
My life is gone.
At any rate, it's gone
shocked small. I saw your face
so vividly collapse in pain
and disbelief, it wasn't
me. It wasn't me!
It wasn't you. Your face
is fine. You laugh, you're
talking still
and calm - until
"Are you okay?" you ask
"You're awfully quiet."
Yes, it's gone.
I'm fine. Your face
- so unconcerned, so
good, so innocent - is balm.
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