Worse than pain

by kdillmanjones

I was sliced open.

We all were.

Everything spilled out,

poured all over the table.

And there it was, the truth,

splattered next to a spleen.


–I’m in far too much pain.

–Shut up. No one cares.


My two sets of candlesticks sat,

a standoff of mutual hate.

You don’t even match,

stupid things.

Stained glass and harvest. 



It was the wind that shattered it all,

that spoke through the brokenness:


The Arctic is drying;

the trees are dying.

Children are shot;

blood running hot.


There are worse things than pain

and kidneys don’t fit in candlesticks.






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