(Not new. Late night.)
Can
we be honest only in pain?
Is
that when we lose our ability to dissemble?
Stigmas
become hieroglyphs indecipherable on a hospital chart
Shame
goes numb inside an open gown, hibernating
While
the smell of blood and urine dilates our nostrils.
When
we become rabbits in a snare
Exhausted
by our own suffering,
Only
then do we look into one another’s eyes to say
Help
me. I am afraid.
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