Infection, burrowing beneath the skin
a soulish disease, calling forth memories and flashbacks no one wants to relive.
Yet I know what’s needed
an antiseptic of his blood to cleanse and mend
but that means facing reality.
The thought of that makes me cringe.
Bury this thing deep
But your eyes see past this mask I portray,
Down where soul and spirit play.
Nothing is hidden from your sight,
Even the deepest darkness is as open to you, as the brightest light.
So then, its time to come clean.
Wash myself with his blood remedy.