cures and diseases

Victory is a tongue along
the edge of a razor
after it has scraped
and popped the blisters
of poison ivy between my finger tips

The moment when the itch
is scratched, then the pus
imbibed

This is communion of self.

"shut up," she says,
"you are so stupid."

The rubbing alcohol is next
this is the trophy
of pain

While the pus lays
delicate on my tongue
and the razor cradles
the moment there

the scent of isopropyl
fills my nose and i dare
to dream of eternity
as the pain opens my mind
to hope.

Thank you God!
I scream
and the itchiness
is gone.

"Shut up," she says,
"you are so fucked up."