Snips At Supper
The anger courses through me.
Being addressed as brother
helping it to reach boiling point,
which I assume takes a while longer than water
due to the plasma and red blood cells.
The white cells shout out a warning
Imposter! Imposter! Imposter!,
Once again the smoke releases tension
like a conversation
with a curly haired boy
battling everything and nothingness.
I point out the significance of a goal a day
keeping the demon away.
Relatability and external validation
still act as the largest vices.
“You did the right thing
Doesn’t mean you won’t feel like sh*t”
This statement sounds like guilt-ridden phone calls
and dirty laundry aired out for the world to see.
The world is small and insignificant.
Smaller yet is a trust circle:
it looks a little like an AA meeting
except we’re scattered about,
finding comfort in other warm bodies.
Or is it cold minds containing the light of our souls?
Either there is no denying
the sound of scissors severing seemingly permanent connections.
