Burlap Dressings

I still remember the day when I first saw you, and didn't think at the time that I could be blinded by you so easily.

The world has become a gruesome place ever since. Or maybe it always was, but you always covered the bad from my vision. 

Still disappointed, I never fail to run my fingers through the thought of your coruscating black hair, before I force myself to stop.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, and there is nothing new under the sun.

You shouldn't have tried to douse the fire inside of me with pitchers of gasoline; it’s what, along with time, has made me a pyromaniac. 

I never liked fire, and now I’m afraid of myself.

It was like a bullet that breaks no body, but all of the soul.

A train that runs on no tracks, so it can’t be derailed.

Time has passed, and I always thought you were the doctor, but you turned out to be the medication. 

And I haven’t taken my medication in really long. Probably never will.

I sat there and stared at my memory of you; all I could before memory slowly became imagination.

And the burlap dressings you gave me still poke and itch,

and I have no choice but to wear them every day.